


Not an Ordinary Girl

by Storygirl82



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: ...but that changes, Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Adult Language, Angst, Bargaining, Blood Magic, Characters from classic Faerie stories re-imagined, Drunk Jareth, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Eventual cameo appearance by another classic 80's fantasy character, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspiration and material from MANY different Brian Froud books, Insta Love, Jareth (Labyrinth) Backstory, Jareth in human disguise, Jareth in the human world, Jareth is a HUGE jerk at first, Loss of Virginity, Love/Hate, Lovesick Jareth, Marriage Proposal, No smut until she's of age, Owl Form Jareth, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Queen Sarah (Labyrinth), Redemption, Romance, Sarah becomes a badass, Sassy Sarah, Slow Burn, Some elements of a dark and disturbing nature (but not a lot), Some elements of a spooky/creepy nature, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Suspense, The creations of Brian Froud, True Love, Vengeful Jareth, battle of wills, blood oath, canon divergence (sort of), desperate love, royal intrigue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 149,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storygirl82/pseuds/Storygirl82
Summary: When Sarah Williams exited the Labyrinth the victor, she left a brooding and heartbroken Goblin King in her wake. Now Jareth does whatever he must to draw her back into his world. An agreement is struck, one Sarah is loath to keep...at first.





	1. Of New Jobs and Drunken Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoggle has been promoted, but it's far from a dream job. The Goblin King's mood has gotten quite dark since Sarah left the Underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  I don't own Labyrinth. Although, I wish I did. I imagine owning Jareth would be quite nice actually ;)  
>  _(Because I am both a fan of copious amounts of glitter and David Bowie in guy-liner.)_  
>  Subsequently, I make no money from this. It's purely a work of fanfiction.

* * *

_In the long, dark winter of despair, hope is always borne aloft on warm summer wings._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p. 144)_

* * *

Hoggle stood outside the Goblin King’s chamber door with a building pressure of greasy dread settling heavily in the pit of his stomach, his doorknob-like knees knocking together, sending an audible _thwack, thwack_ echoing through the thick gloom of the winding corridor. The dwarf’s slight hands trembled to the point where he shook the thick-cut crystal wine decanter, and single goblet, he carried. They made a jarring rattle on the serving tray he held tightly against his chest as if it could be used as some sort of shield against Jareth the tyrant.

Hoggle wasn't quite sure what had him shaking more, winter's bitter chill or the cantankerous king who awaited him. If only Jareth would allow him some warmer clothing, rather than the silky, fancy nonsense clothes the king presently insisted he always wear. The ridiculous getup was just like everything else he currently found himself subjected to, done purely for Jareth's sadistic joy of making him completely miserable.

“King awake. King **maaaaaaad**!” Ludo, one of Hoggle’s closest friends, needlessly informed him.

The beast’s massive frame slouched against the wall, ever vigilantly keeping his post next to the Goblin King’s door.The sweet-natured, but decidedly dimwitted, Ludo clutched a badly rusted broadsword. It looked like nothing more than a worse-for-wear paring knife in the beast's gargantuan paw. A much nicked and dented helmet, which looked as if it had been dug up from some long-dead goblin guard’s moldering grave, was perched precariously atop of the creature’s massive, furry head.

Being that the helmet looked to be no less than ten sizes too small, Hoggle was certain that Ludo would send the ill-fitting piece of scrap metal flying through a nearby window or crashing to the floor with any sort of sudden movement.

“Way to state the obvious. I know he’s mad. He’s mad all the time now. What else is new?” Hoggle retorted, trying in vain for his usual waspish tone, yet only managed a weak and garbled mumble. 

He swallowed against the near painful lump of nerves that had somehow securely lodged itself within his throat. For the millionth time, during the laborious six months since Sarah’s triumph over the Goblin King, Hoggle once again found himself questioning his sanity in accepting the _promotion_ Jareth had offered him, as his personal valet.

Well, it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice at the time. Jareth had given him only two options: be elevated from his lowly station as one of the many underappreciated labyrinth gardeners (to serve Jareth in the goblin castle)...or be pitched head-first into the bog of eternal stench.

Needless to say, Hoggle hadn’t much liked the idea of stinking for the rest of his life. As everyone in the goblin realm was all too aware, if you so much a dipped a toe into the sludgy, sickly green bog, you would stink forever, no matter how much you bathed and scrubbed. The bog’s putrid stench was even immune to all magical cures. To the dwarf's knowledge, It couldn’t even be nullified by any sort of faerie magic or witches’ potion.

Most victims of a _“bogging”_ (as Jareth was fond of calling it), went to live in the small settlement just a little north of the bog, among others that had received the same punishment, or had simply been unlucky and/or stupid enough to fall in. Once you had been bogged, no one but others like you would ever tolerate your presence.

 _Bog dwellers_ they were called; pariahs to all other Fae. The only sort of silver lining for these poor wretches was the fact that prolonged exposure to the bog’s fumes often burnt out one’s sense of smell altogether. Therefore, a victim of a bogging would eventually be granted the blessed relief of no longer being capable of smelling their own horrid odor, their pungent surroundings, or anything else for that matter. Hoggle was more than happy to forgo the fate of becoming a bog dweller.

Despite his ripe old age, he still hadn’t given up on his secret dream of finding a nice lady dwarf to settle down and hoard shiny knick-knacks with. That dream would never become a reality if he was doomed to smell like the arse of a festering ogre’s corpse, that was left an entire week to rot in the blazing hot sun of summer. No woman in her right mind, dwarf or otherwise, would ever want a husband who smelled like that.

In all honesty, Hoggle had all but jumped at the offered valet job with unabashed relief. Even if Jareth hadn’t threatened to bog him, Hoggle surmised that he probably would have accepted without hesitation, regardless. When he had unwillingly accepted the king’s summons to the Goblin Castle, that fateful day after Sarah had left the Underground with her baby brother, Hoggle had been absolutely convinced that his life had been about to come to a bloody and long-suffering end; either by an executioner’s axe, or the dark oblivion of an Oubliette. He'd been utterly certain that his aid in Sarah’s victory over Jareth would undoubtedly be seen as high treason.

Much to the cantankerous dwarf’s utter and complete shock, he discovered that not only would he and Sarah’s other friends **not** be put to death for their betrayal, but they were all to be given positions among the royal court. Ludo, the gentle, but quite imposing looking, beast had been appointed as Jareth’s personal bodyguard. This never ceased to seem a particularly odd choice on the king’s part, considering Ludo was now using the blunt end of his rusted sword to scratch his own belly.

As he scratched, the silly beast began tipping his head back and giving low, animalistic grunts of appreciation, for the simple pleasure of a good scratch. As Hoggle had anticipated, Ludo’s too-small helmet hit the dusty flagstone floor with a raucous _clang_ and of course, went unnoticed by the furry behemoth, as he continued his sword scratching with blissful abandon.

“Pfffft! Some bodyguard you are!” Hoggle chided his friend, with an almost convincing imitation of his usual snark.

In reality, however, he was grateful for any excuse at all to delay going into the King’s chambers just a bit longer.

“ **Hoghead!!!!** Is that you out there making all that insufferable racket? What is taking you so bloody long with that wine? I could have grown the damn thistle, harvested it and made it into wine myself by now! You useless little cur! Get in here right **this instant**!” Jareth’s venom-laden tone came booming through the closed door, nearly causing Hoggle to soil the fancy, lace-trimmed breeches of his new uniform.

“Oh what I wouldn’t give to trade places with Sir Didymus! At least he’s away from the castle most of the time,” Hoggle breathed a deep wistful sigh, as he shuffled his still trembling form into the dim maw of the Goblin King’s bedchamber.

Sir Didymus, the boisterous little fox (and self-declared knight), unlike Hoggle, had been given his dream job the day they had all been summoned to the castle. The fearless little fox had been appointed a title Jareth had called _Head of all Questing_.

The position basically consisted of Sir Didymus riding all over the Goblin Realm, on his trusty steed Ambrosius, and getting himself caught up in the middle of any troublesome situation he could manage to find. Then, if he survived, he was to report any significant happenings to the Goblin King.

Hoggle highly suspected that the position had been completely made up by Jareth, just so the king could be spared the fox knight’s constant yammering and endless accounts of all his many brave deeds. He also suspected that Jareth secretly hoped that someday Sir Didymus might perish in the line of duty so that the king might never again have to deal with Didymus' prattling. The Goblin King always seemed just the tiniest bit disappointed whenever the little knight returned from one of his many perilous quests.

Hoggle had yet to meet anyone so completely undeterred by Jareth’s poisonous moods as Sir Didymus. Even when the king ranted and bellowed at the fox knight, in that very same tone that always managed to turn Hoggle’s bowels to ice water, Sir Didymus would only blink and continue on with his endless accounts, completely unperturbed.

As cowardly as Hoggle knew himself to be, he often found himself envious of his fox friend’s grand adventures. As much as the dwarf dreaded any sort of danger, he surmised that he would very much prefer facing an entire gang of irate trolls, rather than continue to deal with Jareth’s infinite ire.

_How I wish I was back in the walls of the labyrinth, sprayin’ for faeries and scrapin’ eyeball lichen off the walls…I shoulda’ let Jareth the rat bog me, back when I hads the choice._

Hoggle suppressed a bitter sigh of longing, as he tried in vain not to let the loss of his once peaceful existence mire him down in woeful depression. He tentatively began to close the king’s chamber door behind himself, as he cast one last disparaging look at Ludo, the so-called bodyguard.

The beast was currently slumped to the floor, taking an impromptu nap. Ludo's all but useless sword stuck out from beneath his immense, furry bottom, where it had probably been discarded and forgotten while the big lug had been using the pathetic excuse of a weapon as an arse scratcher.

“Oh please!” Hoggle gave an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes at the sorry sight his friend made, as he shut the door with a dull _thud_.

If any threat whatsoever showed up on Jareth’s doorstep; hell, it could even be a fuzzy-bunny assassin, and if it got as far as Ludo, Hoggle figured Jareth was probably good as dead. Considering the Goblin King probably wouldn’t put up much of a fight anyway.

Presently, all Jareth seemed to have any interest in was wallowing in his own self-pity and drinking the wine of the amnesia thistle by the barrel-full; that, and screaming at Hoggle for any reason whatsoever…or forcing him to do humiliating things for the King’s personal entertainment.

Hoggle suppressed a shudder at the memory of the week before when the rat had been in a particularly foul mood and had insisted Hoggle wear a miniature ladies ball gown (which he suspected Jareth had commissioned the royal dressmaker to make especially for him). Once attired in his frilly new garb, Jareth had then made Hoggle sing a popular goblin realm ditty, about an ogre fucking a milkmaid on the straw floor of her father’s barn.

Jareth had clapped his hands merrily to the tune; he even paused every now and again, to throw his head back and burst into maniacal laughter...or hurl a stray object at the dwarf, whenever he felt Hoggle wasn't lively enough with his awkward dance moves, as the little man grudgingly pranced about the king’s chamber.

_Slowly starvin’ to death in a dark Oobliette would be better than havin’ to wear that dress again!_

Hoggle grit his teeth, with no small amount of bitterness, as he began to fastidiously make his way through the chaos of soiled laundry, empty wine bottles, and other such clutter in Jareth’s sitting room; all while trying not to dump the precious contents of the serving tray he clutched for dear life.

“Come, come, Hogbrain!” Hoggle gave an involuntary shiver at the Goblin King's muffled shout, which blasted from the open doorway of Jareth’s bedroom.

“I haven’t got all day for you to laze about! Where **is** my wine?”

“Errr… comin' yer Majesty!” Hoggle gulped and very nearly succeeded in tripping on what appeared to be a ladies undergarment.

The wine decanter suddenly lurched forward and nearly overturned on its uneasy tray. Hoggle’s small hand shot out with lightning-quick reflexes, awarded to him only through sheer desperation. With an audible sigh of relief, he righted the decanter and continued through the door. Jareth had awoken without his wine awaiting him. Hoggle knew instantly that it was **not** to be a pleasant day.

The dwarf found his master bare-arsed, lying face down on his mattress. The silken ivory bedcovers were in complete rumpled disarray all around him. How anyone could lie around, as naked as the day they were born, in the frigid grip of winter, Hoggle hadn't the slightest idea. The dwarf wrinkled his nose at the stale musk of sweat, body odor, and sex that permeated the disaster of a room around him.

To Hoggle's knowledge, Jareth had always been one for tidiness and order. When he'd first come to work in the castle, he had been somewhat in awe of the Goblin King’s pristine and immaculately ordered chambers. However, as the days had passed and His Majesty’s bitterness had seemed to grow to the point of completely consuming him, Jareth had digressed into nothing but a womanizing drunk, who didn’t seem to mind a good wallow in his own filth. Disturbingly enough, the newfound disregard for cleanliness also seemed to extend to the king’s personal hygiene. 

Hoggle gave the air around the bed an experimental sniff and found his upper lip involuntarily curling with distaste. It seemed a great deal of the room’s stench was coming from Jareth himself. Perhaps he could try and talk the king into taking a bath and just **maybe** , His Majesty would allow one of the chambermaids to actually clean his chambers...instead of ravaging her like a mindless animal. It seemed clear to Hoggle, that with each passing day, Jareth became more and more like the directionless goblins he had been entrusted to govern over.

“Wine!” the king rumbled, not even bothering to lift his head to look at Hoggle, “Oh...and do tell **that** to leave.”

Hoggle followed Jareth’s clumsy one-armed gesture to the foot of the bed, where a half-clothed chambermaid lay in a blissful post-coital stupor; her bodice ripped open, revealing perky, alabaster breasts. Her skirts were hopelessly tangled abound her curvy hips, displaying far too much of her _lady business_.

Cheeks burning, Hoggle took the opportunity to look away, by turning his back to set the serving tray on a nearby table and pour his master’s wine goblet, full to the brim, with the much-coveted thistle wine.

“Here you are, Sire!” Hoggle all but tripped in his eagerness to get the bitter smelling, milky green liquid to his king.

Jareth was always unbearable; however, he was just a tad less intolerable when he was entirely in the grips of the wine’s numbing effects.

“I thought I told you to tell **her** to go, Higgle,” Jareth mumbled, lifting his tousled golden head just enough to bring his eager lips to the goblet’s rim.

His Majesty drained it entirely, in a short series of desperate, sucking gulps, then propped himself up on the mattress with one pale, shaky arm.

“Oh! Right you are, Sire!” Hoggle all but jumped out of his skin and dashed back over to where the sleeping maid lay, giving her a few good shakes around her shoulders. “Ummm… miss, the king has requested that you be leavin.’ Miss!” Hoggle pleaded when the girl was slow to rouse.

No doubt Jareth had plied the maid with a great deal of drink the night before. That was currently the Goblin King’s style anyway; lure the pretty little maids and simpering female courtiers, into his chambers; get them good and drunk; fuck their brains out until the sun rose the next day, then unceremoniously have Hoggle kick them out. Besides, the girl had to be completely wrecked if she could manage to sleep through all of Jareth’s damn bellowing.

It wasn't that the Goblin King needed the help of any sort of intoxicant, to have his way with pretty much any female in his kingdom. As increasingly charmless as His Majesty had become over the past months, it didn’t go unnoticed that he was a decent looking Fae male and highly desired by the females of the Underground. Surprisingly enough, even Jareth’s recent lack of bathing didn’t even seem to deter them. In fact, it only increased his popularity with the ugly born-goblin females.

Hoggle suppressed a shudder. Thankfully, Jareth only bedded the attractive and human-looking _made-goblin_ women. Hoggle inwardly mused that if he'd had to wake half naked born-goblins and kick **them** out of the king’s chamber every morning, he would have happily thrown himself in the bog of eternal stench and gotten it over with. Anything to spare his poor, old eyes the unimaginable horror at the sight of sagging, warty goblin tits.

“Wha-what’s going on?” the bleary-eyed chambermaid sputtered, starting at the sight of Hoggle nudging her awake.

She narrowed her large clover-green eyes at Hoggle's slight frame, in evident suspicion. “I know I told you I do anythin,’ Yer Majesty… but I won’t be fuckin’ no dwarfs! I don’t do that sort of thing … **anymore**.”

Hoggle gaped at her, his cheeks burning and his mouth hanging open like a sputtering fish. The Goblin King merely made an exasperated noise from deep within his throat.

“No Lulabell, my dear. No dwarf fucking is required, I assure you. In fact, you may **go** right this instant,” Jareth drawled, rising to help himself to yet another goblet of thistle wine; utterly heedless of his unclothed state.

“ **Go?** Now?” the maid pouted.

Apparently this Lulabell was one of **those** girls; the kind who were just stupid enough to believe that the rat wanted anything more from them than a good rutting between the sheets. Hoggle entirely loathed that sort.

They were always harder to get rid of...and the longer they lingered, the angrier the His Majesty got...at **him**. As if it were his fault that the silly females couldn’t grasp that all the Goblin King wanted was what was between their legs!

“Yes. **Go**. Now,” Jareth garbled against the rim of his goblet. “You were… _sufficient_.”

“ **Sufficient!** ” The maid gasped in outrage, her back going ramrod straight with indignity, “That’s not what ya were sayin’ last night when ya had me feet up over me head!”

 _Oh no! Now she’ll never leave!_ Hoggle wailed inwardly.

“Hogwart, I thought you were taking care of… **this** ,” Jareth grumbled in a dull tone, making a slight shooing motion in the direction of the maid, before draining the remainder of his second goblet.

The glint of rage simmering in the Goblin King’s mismatched eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Hoggle, as well as the slight tilt of the king's matted blonde head, towards the wardrobe by the bed; where Hoggle knew all too well, the rat kept the little ball gown. The message was clear; if Hoggle didn’t want to spend the rest of the day prancing around in a dress, singing bawdy tavern songs in a falsetto voice, while having wine bottles hurled at his head, he needed to get rid of the disgruntled Lulabell. **Now.**

“Come along, miss. The daylight is a-wastin'! I’m sure you’ve got duties to be attendin’ to!” Hoggle gasped, grabbing the maid by the wrist, as best as his small dwarf hands would allow. “We best not be botherin’ his majesty anymore this morning,” Hoggle gave a half-hearted snort of nervous laughter, giving the reluctant maid’s arm a firm tug.

“Hey! Watch yer grubby little mitts!” Lulabell scoffed, quickly breaking free of Hoggle’s grasp and trying in vain to close her corset and right her skirts.

“Just come along, miss,” Hoggle pleaded, raw desperation beginning to color his tone.

Hell, he wasn’t too proud to get on his knees and beg the little tart to leave!

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. Lulabell finally got the message when Hoggle reached behind her and began to shove at her round backside, as hard as he could, with both hands. With a few muttered curses, the surly maid grudgingly made her departure; her breasts jiggling out of her gaping corset.

Hoggle allowed himself the luxury of taking a second to breathe out a gushing sigh of relief. He couldn’t help but notice that just like all the other women who frequented the king’s chamber, this one too had long, dark hair that fell down her back, like a sleek cocoa curtain.

 _Green eyes and long, dark hair. They always have to look like Sarah, don’t they Jareth? Even if just a little bit…_

An unexpectedly odd mix of pity and disgust began to burble within the pit of the prickly little dwarf’s belly.

_Just to think of it, Jareth, the so-called mighty Goblin King…heartbroken and destroyed over a human girl. Now that’s irony that is!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of this fic was originally posted on Adult-fanfiction.org, years ago. However, due to real life matters and because the adult-fanfiction site is a royal pain in the booty to maneuver and post on (seriously, you have no idea!) I never updated. However, once I discovered AO3, I was once again inspired to resume.
> 
> Just to clarify, here’s a breakdown of what to expect from this fic, as well as a few disclaimers (so that we're all on the same page here)-  
> (This is going to be kind of a lengthy note, but bear with me.)
> 
> This is a slow burn epic. It has a windy, twisty (some may even say zig-zagging), plot. Don’t expect short, sweet, and to the point, because you won’t find that here. Those who are short on patience and dig instant gratification, may not want to go any farther with this one. 
> 
> However, if you like the slow dance of a gradually unfolding story (punctuated with desperate love, passion, action, suspense, drama, a dash of humor, and the clash of two very strong wills), sit back, relax. You’re in the right place ;)
> 
> As ascertained in this first chapter, this fic picks up six months after the film left off. It progresses over the course of 6-7 years. There will time-jumps throughout. However, a good chunk of the first half of this fic will take place within the first year of Sarah and Jareth’s paths recrossing, because a lot of events that are pivotal to the rest of the story take place during that time.
> 
> So, Sarah will be 16/17 throughout most of the first half. If you have issues with teen Sarah paired with Jareth, then sorry, this probably won’t be your jam. Let it be noted though, that while there will be some sexual tension and occasional kisses, there will **not** be any smut until the chapters where Sarah is of age. She'll be an adult when things finally _happen_ between them.
> 
> My reason for starting Sarah out young is that I just didn’t see Jareth waiting too long to resume perusing her. He was portrayed as relentless in the film and also seemed utterly undeterred by her age.
> 
> The way I see it, he’s Fae, not human. Therefore, the human standards of what is and is not appropriate, concerning age, probably hold very little meaning to a being like Jareth. That was pretty much the foundation laid down in the film, so I chose to build off said foundation.
> 
> Also, please note, this is not a “nice-guy Jareth” story. Don’t expect him to have learned his lesson from his first encounter with Sarah and come sweeping back into her life like a charming prince on a white horse. 
> 
> He was cunning, manipulative, and pretty much just a moody jerk with impulse control issues in the movie. So again, I’m choosing to build off the foundation given in the film. While there will be a redemption arc for Jareth as one of the main points of focus, don’t expect anything to go smoothly or quickly. After all, the Goblin King **will** be the Goblin King. 
> 
> However, this isn’t a “dark Jareth” story either. While I do see Jareth as overbearing, manipulative, and sometimes downright ruthless, I do not see him as evil, so he won’t be portrayed as such. I have nothing against dark Jareth stories, they just aren’t my thing.
> 
> Also, something to take note of, this is a multiple POV fic and is tagged as such for a reason. The majority of the chapters will be from either Jareth or Sarah’s POV, but from time to time the supporting characters will hop in the driver’s seat, so to speak (like Hoggle in this first chapter). Each piece of the story is told through the eyes of the character I thought in the best position to tell it. 
> 
> There will be times when the focus momentarily wanders from Jareth and Sarah, so an essential piece of the puzzle can be laid down (and a path can be laid for upcoming plot points), through another character’s eyes. So, if you’re of the “But I only want to read about Jareth and Sarah kissing forever and ever! What’s with the side-character crap? There should be no other characters other than them!” mindset, this tale is most definitely not for you lol. Just a heads-up. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the start of this old/new fic of mine and continue to read on as it progresses. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading <3


	2. Of Musings and Bittersweet Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jareth finds himself lamenting the past; the day he first laid eyes on Sarah Williams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long one. It's a Jareth POV chapter and it was originally even longer, but I ended up braking it up because it got just plain ridiculous in its length. So there will be two back-to-back Jareth POV chapters. Is there even such a thing as too much Jareth? No...I don't think there is ;)

* * *

_In the gloaming she softly shimmers. Always silent, yet leaving a dusting of laughter in her wake._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faerie: p.108)_

* * *

Jareth sank back onto his rumpled, and alarmingly stained, bedding. He shuddered at the positively arctic feel of the room and cast an annoyed glare upon the cold hearth of the fireplace, across from the bed. Blast, the fire had gone out again. With a limp flick of his wrist, eager flames sprung to life within the grate and Jareth immediately sighed with relief as the blessed kiss of warmth caressed his bare skin.

For a while, he merely watched the flames undulate, as he unceremoniously downed a third goblet full of the cursed bile that dared to call itself wine. Jareth gave a pained grimace at the cloying, almost metallic flavor and smacked his dry lips. He considered trying to chase the taste away with a glass of water, yet recalled that it had never really helped before.

If it wasn’t for the fact that the wine of the Amnesia Thistle worked even the tiniest bit on him, fading and soothing the fine details of his recent stinging memories, Jareth would have banned the cursed stuff from the Goblin Realm altogether. Its bitter bouquet burned the insides of his nostrils and caused his eyes to water with its acrid stench. Not to mention, it tasted like something his goblins might use as fuel to light their torches and bonfires. 

Nevertheless, Jareth had discovered shortly after **her** treacherous betrayal, that if he began downing the putrid stuff from the moment he woke in the morning and kept steadily at it until late in the afternoon, he would be awarded a few brief hours of respite from the gnawing pain, which seemed to claw at his chest, like a living entity bent on his demise.

Even now, after only three goblets full, the details of his dream the night before were beginning to grow muzzy and fade; like a cloud of smoke dissipating into the air.

Of course, he had dreamt about her. He **always** dreamt of her now. It was as if even his own damned slumbering mind was out to torture him, to make him yearn that much more for what he knew he could never have. The moment she had uttered those cursed words, she had destroyed him. She had all but spit in his face and walked away with his still-beating heart clutched tightly in the palm of her loathsome little hand. 

How **dare** she refuse him! Over the course of his centuries-long life, there had been hundreds of women who had begged him for the kind of offer he had given to Sarah. A great deal of them had been even more beautiful than she, as well as far more influential.

Princesses and queens from all over the world, who had ruled over Fae kingdoms and mortal kingdoms alike, had grovelled on their knees for the chance to be his consort. Of course, he had taken many lovers over his lifetime, but he had never taken a queen to rule by his side. Never before had any singular woman, mortal or Fae, interested him enough to make that sort of offer.

It was no secret that Jareth often got bored of his consorts rather quickly. He could hardly tolerate rutting in the sheets with the same woman more than once, much less make the sort of lifelong commitment taking a queen would mean, but for Sarah, he had been willing to do so.

For Sarah, he had been willing to offer everything that was his on a silver platter, and that ungrateful little viper had practically laughed in his face! Not only had she refused his more than generous offer, but she had also humiliated him in front of the entire Fae court! 

Beaten and bested by a mere child! He was a laughingstock! Jareth knew very well what his subjects now said about him; what they murmured under their breaths and whispered in the darkened halls of his castle when they thought themselves in private.

They called him foolish! They dared to snicker over what they deemed idiocy! They dared to call him pathetic! Even stinking, filthy born-goblins (who loved to roll in their own muck), mocked him! Yet when he had made examples of the gossipers he'd caught red-handed, by throwing them in an oubliette for a few long, miserable days; he knew the titters and clucking of tongues hadn’t ceased.

 _If only I could wrap my hands around that spiteful little brat’s pale neck, I’d choke the very life out of her!_

Jareth inwardly snarled, grasping his crystal goblet and hurling it across the room to emphasize the depth of his rage.

The goblet hit the wall, instantly exploding in a silvery shower of jagged crystalline shards, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Jareth had hoped. His only consolation was watching Hoggle, who had been trying in vain to tidy up the squalor of his chambers, nearly jump clean out of his skin, as the goblet shattered just a few feet from his head. The dwarf only gave him a brief put-upon sort of look and continued his pointless task. 

At least the little wretch knew better than to comment. Jareth had made sure to school him in how he expected him to behave. Questioning the Goblin King would not be tolerated in the least. He often hoped, with a sort of malice-laced glee, that the cheeky little cur would spout-off. It was a convenient excuse to unleash his anger, which was now often simmering just under the surface of his self-pitying demeanor. 

Regrettably though, not even that simmering ire could always be counted upon to help blunt the pain. Where just seconds ago, he had eagerly imagined himself strangling that deceptive little chit known as Sarah Williams, he now only focused on the vision of her lovely face and how soft her skin might feel if he brushed her cheek… how sweet her lips might taste beneath his… how breathy her sighs of pleasure might sound in his ear as he took her… 

_Damn her to the putrid depths of the bog itself!_

How had he ever let himself become so enthralled by a mere mortal? If only he hadn’t been such a lack-witted fool. If only he had been strong enough to walk away without a second thought, that very first time he had laid eyes on her.

Despite, his three goblets of that horrid thistle wine, Jareth still recalled that night in excruciatingly crisp detail. It would take a cask full of that bile to forget such an ingrained memory.

It had been a year or so ago, or perhaps a bit longer than that…who could tell with the way time passed in the Underground? On that fateful night, Jareth had been world-hopping. It was something he sometimes did on nights he felt particularly restless or simply felt bored beyond words with his surroundings.

The ritual of world-hopping consisted of going deep into the woods, just beyond his Labyrinth. It was the only place within his realm where the veil between worlds had thin spots and numerous thin spots at that. 

It took nothing for a Fae of Jareth’s caliber to slip right into these points of weakness; as if just merely passing through an open door. These openings always announced themselves by a faint, silver glow that hung in the air like an idol Will-O-Wisp. Jareth suspected only himself or other Fae nobility could cross into these spectral openings.

When he’d first discovered them as a boy, he’d hid for hours at a time, fueled on youthful curiosity and had watched various creatures blindly ignore the beckoning glow of the openings, as they passed on their way. They would even proceed right through the openings, without being transported, as if these weak spots in the veil didn’t even register lesser beings. 

Why the veil was particularly thin there in his woods and how these various openings came to be, Jareth wasn’t certain, nor did he particularly care. He only cared that it was amusing to jump into these random gateways to discover what strange and unexplored worlds they led to. He had once even discovered a land where all the citizens were stuffed child’s toys. 

This had struck Jareth as extremely daft, but he had greatly amused himself by pulling off some of these citizens’ button eyes, then had laughed himself silly while they went about blindly fumbling for their lost buttons. Of course, the fun had ended when enraged stuffed toy law-enforcers had arrived and had tried to capture him and punish him by sewing buttons to **his** eyes. 

It was times such as those, which Jareth found himself utterly grateful for his power of teleportation; a power only royal Fae were gifted with upon birth. Unfortunately, his power was completely useless for trying to get to a place he had never before been.

Jareth could only transport himself if he could fully visualize the place he was attempting to go. Otherwise, he had to use the gateway mirror; which hung in the grand portrait room of his castle. The gateway mirror was capable of taking any resident of the goblin realm to any world they needed, or wished, to go.

All a traveler had to do was verbally ask the magical object to take them to their desired location and off they went. It came in particularly handy when his goblins needed to retrieve a wished-away child. 

The use of the gateway mirror was heavily monitored, the object itself surrounded by armed guards at all times. One could only use it with the expressed permission of the Goblin King himself. Only royal Fae were allowed the use of it without limitations. One could never be too careful; especially where goblins were concerned.

The last thing Jareth needed was a bunch of his idiot minions popping about other worlds unsupervised. The little buggers could be awfully troublesome. Unlimited access to the gateway was just begging for chaos on a grand scale, and he didn’t particularly fancy having that sort of headache. 

The Goblin king scarcely ever used the mirror himself. The only times he ever found any use for it were the occasions he had to travel to a specific location he had never before been. Otherwise, Jareth could quickly travel to any place he had previously visited, and then there was always world-hopping; for the times he merely wanted to be surprised and for the sheer thrill of the unexpected.

So on the night he had gotten his first glimpse of the girl who would forever change his life, Jareth had been more than a bit underwhelmed to find himself in a tediously common little town within the mortal realm. He'd slipped through a random veil opening that he had hoped would take him to some far-off and exotic land.

Yes, there were in fact, places in the mortal world he had greatly enjoyed visiting in the past. New York City, for example, was a fascinating, bustling place filled with culture and worldly marvels. Jareth had always enjoyed spending time there; the plays…the food…the nightlife…the women! New York had always been a personal favorite of his. 

The sleepy little town he had ended up in, however, had been nothing but a dismal disappointment. Of all the places in the Aboveground, he could have ended up: Tahiti, Tokyo, Malan, but no, it had to be a place where the sole source of activity seemed to be a school of some sort. 

_How very dull!_

Jareth shot a disdain-dripping sneer at the cozy scene of small-town living set before him. Around him, cars of all makes and models rolled into the school’s bustling parking lot. Dull looking people of plain dress and various ages shuffled towards the sprawling red-brick building with crisp white trim. An eye-catching apple-red sign out front proudly boasted, _Nyack High School- Proud Traditions Shaping the Future_.

 _Pah!_ Jareth snorted to himself, _I should forget about tonight’s foray and go home. There is certainly no adventure to be found here, among these bumpkins._

Yet, just as he was about to do so, the marquee that stood near the school’s welcome sign caught his eye. 

**Join us this evening for the Fall production of Hamlet!**

Jareth studied the bold, black lettering of the marquee with sudden, growing interest. Despite his lackluster surroundings, Jareth found a small smile curving his lips. Ah, so the children of these simple peasants thought they could put on a decent production of the Dane’s tragic tale, did they? Well, if anything else it was certain to be amusing; watching feeble low-born children butcher William Shakespeare’s masterpiece. 

Jareth had actually had the great privilege of seeing the very first production of _Hamlet_ , when he was just a boy, in South East Asia back in 1609. It had been ten years before the play had ever been performed in the royal courts of England. His father had taken him on a jaunt to the mortal realm.

Watching that play performed for the very first time had been nothing short of magical for Jareth. Since then he had seen Hamlet performed on such stages as London’s famed _Globe_ theatre and New York’s historical _Bowery Playhouse_ , by casts who were legendary for their skill. So watching a bunch of children fumble through such a masterwork would undoubtedly be good for a laugh… and Jareth loved to laugh, especially at the expense of others.

Finding the humiliation of silly children a more exciting prospect than returning home, the Goblin King made his way through the crowded parking lot, following the general flow of foot traffic towards the school’s principal entrance. It was then that he felt it; a near tangible tug, as if some sort of invisible string was pulling him. It tugged him onward as if his careless stride wasn’t quite quick enough for this invisible force’s liking.

A sudden feeling of disquieting urgency heavily settled upon him, causing his pulse to race and his tongue to go bitter with the metallic tang of panic. For a moment Jareth just froze, utterly baffled by this alien sensation.

The second he ceased his forward motion, he found himself completely engulfed with the compelling notion to press on and follow the crowd; as if every single cell in his body were screaming at him _move, move, move!_ Just what sort of magic was afoot here? Surely this had to be the work of sorcery…

 _“Who is he?”_

_“Is He one of the actors?”_

_“A bit old to be in a high school play, isn’t he?”_

_“Maybe he’s one of the teachers doing a filler role or something…”_

_“I’ve certainly never seen him before…”_

The cloying titters and giggles of the mortals around him invaded Jareth’s ears; momentarily succeeding in distracting him from the tangle of confusion in which he had unexpectedly found himself ensnared. 

“Why is he dressed like that?” Came the harsh rasp of a waspish-faced elderly woman, who glowered at Jareth with the sort of narrow-eyed stare that loudly broadcasted her disapproval. “I think he’s some kinda weirdo.”

Jareth then realized, much to his chagrin, he had been so distracted, he had forgotten entirely to glamour himself so that he might meld into his drab surroundings. That was usually his first order of business, after slipping through a veil opening. Even he had to admit; he did sort of look like a lone peacock among a flock of pidgins; in his black leather breeches, matching gloves, ivory poet’s shirt and ground-sweeping blue velvet coat. He would have laughed out loud at his absent-minded folly if he hadn’t been so rattled.

 _Move, move, move!_ Jareth’s idol body seemed to shout out him; every muscle poised and eager to spring forward with the press of the crowd.

“I think you had better call the cops, Cliff. I think he’s one of those creepers from the city. You know how those city-types are. Crazies and perverts the lot of them,” the insufferable old bat was telling the uneasy-looking younger man at her side; her son most likely. 

_Move!_ Jareth’s pulse hammered that single word in his ear with a sort of fervent staccato, and it had nothing to do with the dimwitted looking Cliff, who seemed as if he were mustering up the courage to ask Jareth exactly what business he had there. There was something at this school of mortal youth.

Something Jareth was supposed to see, he was certain of it. Every fiber of his being urged him towards it and even though this odd compulsion rather frightened him, he would be hard-pressed to deny that it didn’t equally rile his interest. 

With a quick flick of his gloved hand, Jareth cast a light glamour on himself; temporarily rendering him completely uninteresting to the idiot humans about him. With a condescending bow of his head to Cliff and his shrew of a mother, who was already looking away as if they had suddenly forgotten his existence entirely, Jareth took off at a brisk pace towards the side of the building. He supposed that there he might have a bit of privacy in which to access the situation and glamour himself accordingly. 

Diversion glamour, such as the one used on Cliff and his sharp-tongued mother, were absurdly short-lived, even for a Fae as powerful as he. After only a few seconds of use, Jareth already felt its precarious hold slipping. If he were going to poke about at this place, he had best blend in quickly.

Strangely enough, when he came around the side of the school and paused outside what appeared to be a sort of back entrance, the unexplained urgency that had flared up so suddenly and fiercely within him, abruptly eased off into a sort of contented certainty. 

_Yes, right here. This is where you are supposed to be. Right here._

Jareth’s entire being seemed to hum with this unexpected reassurance, and despite the wave of relaxed certainty that now overcame him, he forced himself to stay alert. Someone or something was manipulating him, and he would be damned if he lowered his defenses and just stood there, like a witless lamb awaiting the slaughter.

However, there didn’t appear to be a single soul around this little area. In fact, the only sounds came from the distant laughter and conversations that wafted from the school’s main entrance around front. So why in the name of the Horned God, did he feel such a burning need to be in this particular spot? There was nothing but a weathered metal door, with a small patio area that had a bunch of abandoned rubbish strewn about it.

It looked to be a collective of discarded and broken theatre props; torn backdrops and splintered wooden cut-outs mostly. There were also a few dented cans of paint and a scatted assortment of shoddy-looking tools. A small copse of pine trees and overgrown hedges surrounded the area by the door, lending it the feeling of being closed in; a feeling Jareth wasn’t particularly keen on at the moment. 

So what was it that he was supposed to do there? Was he supposed to go through that door? Or was he supposed just to stand there and wait for whatever trap that it may very well be, to spring closed upon him? He was about to try the door when the sudden rattling of its handle had him jumping to his instincts without a further second’s thought. Someone was coming! 

With a quick burst of glittering light, Jareth shifted to his owl form and took cover in one of the high branches of a nearby tree. He wasn’t a fool. His diversion glamour was already gone, and as curious as he was to see what had compelled him here, he wasn’t about to just wait for a threat to jump out at him.

With his talons digging into the branch beneath him and his small avian heart practically in his throat; he watched the door fly open with a heady mix of excitement and unease. Jareth wasn’t entirely sure what, or who, he had expected, but the sight of two young girls bursting through the door in a rush of spindly limbs, completely perplexed him.

“Sarah! Sarah, come back! You have to calm down. The show starts in less than ten minutes!” an awkward looking girl (who had hair the color of carrots and a face completely covered in splotchy brown freckles), shouted at her companion.

The other girl, Sarah, was dressed in an ill-fitting men’s renaissance era costume. The dull and utterly unflattering garment bagged off of her delicate frame, like a black velvet sack. 

“It’s not fair, Genevieve! It’s just not fair!” the girl called Sarah, wailed dramatically, as she began to pace about. 

Her arms were flailing wildly, as if to emphasize her statement; her small hands completely vanished beneath the too-long lace cuffs, of the floppy sleeves of her loose tunic. 

Her voice…Even though she was whining, it was undeniably strong and almost musical to Jareth’s ears; prickling his interest enough to have him leaning forward on his perch, craning his feathered head for a better look.

She was beautiful; there was no denying that, despite the fact that she was such a young and wispy little thing. From the look of her, she was about fifteen, if one were going by human time standards. Jareth knew with the utmost certainty; she would grow to be the sort of beauty men would have feverish dreams about and give everything they owned, for the opportunity to call her theirs. 

Even as a mere youth, this Sarah was stunning. She possessed a flawless porcelain complexion he knew even Fae women would envy. Long silken hair, the shade of a particularity rich, dark chocolate, fell well past her shoulders in a graceful sort of disarray. Eyes like flecks of polished jade sparkled from beneath her thick, sooty lashes.

Her poor father would doubtlessly soon have to beat young men away from her in droves, if not already. Yet, despite her sweet oval-shaped face, her lush, rosy mouth and the delicate blush of her porcelain cheeks, which were guaranteed to make any mortal boy yearn to run a finger across their silken perfection, it was the luminous golden glow that radiated from her angelic form that genuinely compelled the Goblin King to breathlessness.

She glowed, the lovely mortal girl **literally** glowed! It was as if she were lit from within like a lantern; casting rays of internal sunshine out of her young body. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and if he had been in his man form, his jaw would undoubtedly be gaping open like an old door with a missing hinge.

Age was but a useless number to his kind. Jareth lived in a place where time moved far differently than it did in the world of humans. Females of this girl’s year equivalent were often taken for brides, in the realm of the Fae. So Jareth saw no reason for shame or guilt, as he looked at her with unabashed longing. 

Typically, females as young as she held no interest to him, be they human or Fae. Jareth preferred his women a bit older and a great deal more experienced. A woman who could play his body as if it were a finely tuned instrument, was far more desirable than a simpering virgin who would shrink back in fear and uncertainty at the mere sight of a man. However, this Sarah… she was a treasure to be certain. Everything about her called to him; held him spellbound and incapable of rational thought.

This unique golden aura that shone so brilliantly about her baffled him to the point of complete stupefaction. Humans simply **didn’t** glow. It was something he was entirely certain he had never seen before. For if he had, he would have undoubtedly remembered such a startling and magnificent sight. 

Forcing himself to tear his gaze from the dazzling beacon that was Sarah, Jareth’s eyes locked upon and studied the other girl, the gangly Genevieve. Not a trace of luminescence about that one; not even the slightest sparkle. She also seemed wholly unaware and unhindered by her friend’s brilliant shine, which was near blinding to Jareth.

Perhaps she had just gotten used to it, yet he doubted that very much. Humans viewed such things, like being able to cast off a brilliant glow, as utterly impossible and would regard such a phenomenon as something to be poked and prodded at until they could come up with some sort semblance of an answer. Humans were silly arrogant things; never daring to believe in the unexplained or magical.

So, it stood to reason that if others were capable of seeing Sarah’s golden light, she just wouldn’t be here at a public function. She would be locked away in some godsforsaken laboratory somewhere, with some idiot scientist fervently trying to come up with a logical explanation for her ability.

Jareth studied the way Genevieve regarded her friend without so much as the slightest squint of her eyes or tilt of her head. No, Jareth was sure the ginger-haired girl couldn’t see Sarah’s light. So it was reasonable to believe that other mortals couldn’t see it either. Sarah herself was probably ignorant of the way she lit up like a firefly.

_Ah yes… a firefly! That must be it!_

That explained everything! Jareth nearly fell off his perch as the realization hit him full-force. So this was why he had felt like his feet couldn’t have gotten him to this particular spot fast enough. Young Sarah was what the Fae of noble blood called a _firefly_ ; a scarce sort of human whom could only be detected by Fae with the gift of seeing.

Of course, only noble-born Fae had this gift; the ability to see mortals who had such an extraordinary wealth of dreams and hope built within them, that they visibly glowed with it. His father had explained _fireflies_ to him as a boy and had told him that they were like catnip to the Fae. 

Even the lower-born Fae, who were unable to see a _firefly’s_ shine, would find themselves hopelessly drawn to them, unaware of exactly why that was. As moths were to a flame, Fae were to mortal dreams. Basking in the shine of a pure and unspoiled dream often had beneficial side effects for a child of the Underground.

For example, a tiny pixie who spent the night perching upon the head of an ordinary slumbering mortal adolescent would often find its magic just a bit stronger and its inner light burning just a bit brighter. To be around a _firefly_ for even a small amount of time, was to amplify that effect by a thousand; thus making _fireflies_ a particularly precious commodity for any child of Faerie.

Of course, there were the rumors that there were more than a few _fireflies_ in the mortal entertainment industry. It made sense. Most _fireflies_ were reportedly the creative sort. Although, Jareth hadn’t the slightest clue as to exactly who was and who wasn’t. A _firefly’s_ shine wasn’t something that translated through television, or in photographs.

The only way to know for sure if a mortal was, in fact, a _firefly_ , was to go and meet them face to face. Jareth had absolutely no interest in trailing after some garish joke of a human celebrity, like a love-starved puppy, _firefly_ or no _firefly_.

It was considered beyond unseemly for a king of Faerie to grovel for the attention of an underling, especially a mere mortal and Jareth hadn’t the slightest inclination of ever reducing himself to such a pathetic state. However, as he sat perched in that tree, taking in the brilliance of the young Sarah’s golden glow; he began to see why some Fae might be tempted to lose themselves to a _firefly’s_ undeniable allure.

Even now, he felt temptation pluck at him; felt the unstoppable spark of curiosity begin to trap him and drag him onwards to the foreboding promise of disaster. Such a powerful feeling was sure to mean trouble. Anything that powerful always did and yet, as he continued to admire her shinning, youthful beauty, Jareth just couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“Sarah, stop it! You have to calm down and get in there. We don’t have much time. Ms. Crask is about to call places! I know you didn’t plan on having to fill in for David, but at least now you get to be the star of the show,” Genevieve’s nasal plea shattered Jareth’s thoughts, like a hammer through glass; nearly startling him enough to send him pitching forward and off the flimsy branch. 

Luckily his avian instincts served him well and his talons dug deep grooves into his perch; bringing his owl body to an abrupt and lurching halt, before he could plummet, beak-first, into the shrubberies below.

“But I wanted to be Ophelia, not Hamlet! I only agreed to be David’s understudy because Ms. Crask gave the part of Ophelia to that Snobby Wendy Marshall and let that even snobbier Greta Pierce be her understudy. I was perfectly fine being on stage-crew with you, if I couldn't have the part I wanted. I didn’t think I’d actually go on as Hamlet. The understudy never goes on!” Sarah wailed, with the hysterical high-pitch that only teenage girls were truly capable of.

“So you didn’t plan on it. So what? I’ve heard you run those lines a hundred times. You’ll make an excellent Hamlet. Better than David even. When you look at it a certain way, it’s kind of a good thing that Dave got mono and had to stay home at the last minute. You’re a great actress, Sarah. Just as good as your mom. I mean it. You’re totally wasting your talent being on the stage-crew. It’s your time to shine a little. You should be happy,” Genevieve tried to reassure her friend with a sort of lopsided, uneasy smile.

However, said smile instantly collapsed in on itself when Sarah turned her back on her friend and began to sob quietly; the momentary silence punctuated by soft, tear-logged sniffles.

“Awww, Sarah… I’m sorry. I won’t push you. If you don’t want to go on that badly, we’ll just have to tell Ms. Crask that she’ll have to get someone else,” Genevieve told her.

Yet the girl bore the distinct look of someone who would rather eat a plate full of worms than have to tell her drama teacher, that there wouldn’t be anyone to fill the starring role.

“No… It’s not even really about that. It’s just my mom. She called yesterday and said that she wouldn’t be able to come tonight because she unexpectedly got an invite to audition for this super exclusive part that she’s been wanting, for like forever, and she said that it didn’t matter anyway…because I’m on stage-crew and it wasn’t like I had an actual part. So she said it wouldn’t matter, but now I’m going to be Hamlet, and my mom won’t even be here,” Sarah sniffed.

For some odd reason, Jareth found himself aching to go to her. He’d only just laid eyes upon Sarah, and already he was compelled to take her into his arms, to wipe her tears away and hold her until every worry she had, popped like a soap bubble and the rest of the world just melted to nothing around them. Such peculiar thoughts as those nettled him to the point of near panic.

Tenderness, caring, none of those qualities were him, and yet there they were, pricking at his heart like tiny burning needles; forcing him to feel things he would prefer to go the rest of eternity without feeling. Yes, _fireflies_ were trouble indeed. He had only been in this one’s presence for a mere moment, and already his head was swimming with a million unsettling thoughts.

His body, even in owl form, felt as if it were experiencing a complete and total sensory overload; his breath coming in short, raspy pants from his slightly parted beak and his heart slamming within his small, feathered chest.

“Well, what about your dad and stepmom? They’re coming, right? Won’t they be surprised when they find out you’re playing Hamlet!” Genevieve offered with a small, hopeful smile.

“Yeah, they’re coming…” Sarah let out a long, shaky sigh and wiped her tears on the back of her overlong black velvet sleeve. “But it shouldn’t even be like this. My mom should be with my dad. The two of them should be coming to see me tonight. It shouldn’t be like **this**! Karen shouldn’t be married to my dad. She shouldn't be living in our house like my mom was never even there.”

"I’m lucky if I even get to see my mom once a month now. Now that she and my dad aren’t together anymore, she’s always super busy with like a million plays and auditions. Anytime I call her; I’m lucky if we even get to talk for five minutes before she tells me, _‘I’ve got to run, darling. I’ve got a horribly busy day tomorrow.’_ It just shouldn’t be like this. It’s not fair,” Sarah hiccupped, her large tear-rimmed eyes making her appear heartbreakingly fragile.

“Awww, come here,” Genevieve put her arms around her friend.

Jareth found himself instantly filled with jealousy-tinged dislike for the ginger-haired girl, solely based on the simple fact that she was able to get so close to Sarah and he was stuck up in a blasted tree.

“You can do this, Sarah. Show your mom just what she’s missing tonight. You really are a brilliant actress, and I’m not just saying that. You’re **awesome** , and it would be such a shame if you didn’t go out there tonight. Besides, you said it yourself; the understudy never gets to go on. You would be crazy not to take advantage of this. Am I right?” Genevieve encouraged, giving Sarah a slight squeeze for emphasis.

“I guess you’re right, Gen. How many chances will I get like this? Okay, I’ll do it. I’m done freaking out now… I promise,” Sarah offered Genevieve a weak, watery smile and gently pulled away from the other girl, so she could go about finishing the task of drying her face with the sleeve of her ill-fitting costume.

“Great! Now we can avoid Ms. Crask giving us that evil raptor glare of hers. You know, the one that makes you feel like someone just walked over your own grave?” Genevieve grinned, pausing to give a comical imitation of an overly exaggerated narrowed-eyed stare. 

“Yeah, I know the one. It’s given me plenty of nightmares in the past,” Sarah laughed as she straightened her baggy tunic and quickly ran her long, slender fingers through her slightly disheveled hair.

As if on cue, the weathered metal door thudded open once again and a positively skeletal-looking woman, in approximately her late forties, with dagger-sharp features, stood in the doorway. She wore an utterly hideous brown tweed pantsuit that bunched in odd places and looked to be of the same texture as a piece of sandpaper.

The woman had her mousey brown hair pulled back in a severe chignon, and a pair of thick-rimmed, (and long out of fashion) glasses perched high on her bony nose. She held a clipboard tightly clutched in her knobby-knuckled hand and had the frosty sort of presence of someone whom took almost everything far too seriously and found very little humor in life. Judging from the harpy-like glare she wasted no time in giving the two girls, Jareth assumed this must be the much feared Ms. Crask.

“And just what on God’s green earth do the two of you think you are doing gossiping out here like a couple of squawking magpies? The curtain goes up in only a few short moments!” the bony slip of a woman demanded, her slight frame visibly straining to keep the door open.

Despite her apparent lack of physical strength, the sheer iron force within Ms. Crask’s voice had the girls snapping to attention, like eager soldiers before their commanding officer. She might have been nothing but a brittle stick of a female; so thin Jareth might have snapped her in two without the least bit of effort. Yet everything about the way Ms. Crask stood, spoke and held herself, absolutely demanded complete and total obedience.

If Jareth hadn’t immediately disliked the woman for the waspish way she addressed Sarah, he might have respected her and perhaps even admired her, just a wee bit.

“S-sorry Ms. Crask, Sarah just had some pre-show jitters and needed some air,” Genevieve stammered her eyes wide with fear, her freckled hands coming together to nervously wring themselves in front of her.

The Crask woman’s flinty winter-grey eyes immediately seized upon Sarah, who had the look of a helpless deer caught within the headlights of an oncoming mortal vehicle. 

“Miss Williams,” Ms. Crask’s tone was like the crisp crack of a whip, “Stage fright is for underlings. **You** are to play Hamlet tonight, albeit by default, but you are the star tonight none the less. You are no longer some behind the scenes lackey,” with that; she shot a swift, piercing glance at Genevieve. 

“Tonight we are paying homage to the Bard, by performing one of his greatest works. If there is one thing that I take seriously, above all else, it is the works of William Shakespeare. The play itself demands perfection.”

” **I** demand perfection. So, Miss William’s, you **will** give it to me and put aside this silly stage fright melodrama. My actors are above such shenanigans, and since you are now officially one of my actors, you are too. Now come inside, the both of you, before-” Miss Crask suddenly broke off, her eyes locking on Jareth, where he perched but a few yards away.

It was now the Goblin King’s turn to feel the chilly scrutiny of that cool, grey gaze and he found himself feeling more than a bit disturbed by the sudden sensation of exposure that threatened to overwhelm him. If only the sodding diversion glamour hadn't worn off so bloody soon! The Crask woman seemed to possess the uncanny ability to access him in but mere seconds. 

“Well…would you look at that! A Barn Owl. Although, I prefer the name Ghost Owl myself,” Ms. Crask’s voice went suddenly soft, with the sort of awe that gave her away as somewhat of a bird enthusiast. Jareth found this sudden softer side of the woman even more disconcerting than her blizzard-like stare.

“Oh my, he’s an exceptional specimen, now isn’t he? I don’t believe I’ve seen one quite that large before…and just look at how he regards us. It’s as if he understands everything we say…” Ms. Crask murmured with apparent appreciation.

Both girls openly gaped at the older woman, as if she had just succeeded in sprouting a second head from her neck. They were both apparently wholly unused to seeing this other layer of their prickly teacher.

“H-how do you know it’s a boy?” Genevieve ventured shakily, her eyes flitting from Jareth to her teacher, to Jareth again; as if she couldn’t quite make any sense out of the whole thing.

However, it wasn’t Ms. Crask who answered.

“Look at him, you can just tell…” Sarah said so quietly Jareth scarcely heard her, even with his superior hearing.

Before he could so much as twitch a feather, he felt the shining warmth of her eyes pinning his.

“There’s just something about him,” Sarah murmured.

It was as if time had suddenly rearranged and the universe itself was holding its very breath. Try as he might, Jareth could not ever recall feeling the way he did just then; like the world could fall down around him and it wouldn’t matter, as long as Sarah kept looking at him, with interest bright in her gaze.

“Actually miss Williams, you can tell by his coloring and lack of spots. Females of his kind are more reddish in their coloring and have heavily spotted chests. Also, the more spots the female has, the healthier she tends to be. A heavily spotted female tends to be free of parasites and is also more likely to have the aid of her mate when caring for their young.”

"They conducted a study some years ago, where they covered some females spots. The females whose spots were left alone, had far more assistance from their mates with the feeding of their young,” Ms. Crask informed them, and when the two girls shot her twin bewildered looks, she added almost sheepishly, “I’ve been a member of the Nyack Bird Club for fifteen years.”

“Aren’t owls nocturnal though? What’s one doing up when it’s still light outside?” Genevieve was now looking up at him, her head of flaming orange hair cocked to the side, a look of confusion apparent on her freckle-peppered face.

“It is indeed a bit odd to see one about at this hour. If an owl is awake during the day, it’s usually only in the very early morning or just before sunset. We still have about two hours before sunset, so this isn’t very typical. However, there are quite a few reasons for why he may be up early.”

“The most likely reason is that he simply didn’t get enough to eat last night, so awoke early to get a jump on hunting. You know, ancient Romans believed that seeing an owl during the day was a bad omen. Let’s certainly hope there isn’t any truth to that because we have a show to put on in just a few moments. Come, girls, time is of the essence!” Ms. Crask began to herd Sarah and Genevieve towards the backstage door.

_No, please don’t go…_

Jareth was more than a bit shaken at the immediate sense of overwhelming loss he felt upon seeing Sarah’s back turned in retreat. With each step she took, Jareth felt that unsettling sensation of being pulled, begin to well up and intensify within him.

_Gods! This is agony!_

However, just as Sarah was poised to step through the backstage doorway, she suddenly stopped and turned her lovely face towards him once again; her golden glow rivaling the very sun’s in both brilliance and beauty.

“I don’t see how anything so beautiful could be bad luck,” Sarah smiled at him, and Jareth swore that at that moment, his heart had ceased to beat within his feathered chest. “I choose to look at him as a symbol of **good** luck. I mean, he would normally be asleep right now. So it’s lucky that we even got to see him in the first place,” Sarah cast him yet one more brilliant smile, from over her shoulder, then turned and stepped through the doorway.

“Let’s hope you’re right, miss Williams. Now go pin up your hair, put on your hat, and let’s see if some quick and creative use of a stapler can make that costume look a little less like you’re wearing a garbage bag. Thank heavens you don’t go on until the second scene. Miss Adams, you’re on the curtain at stage right. Go, go!” Jareth heard the Crask woman barking orders at the girls just as the backstage door shut with a jarring clang.

Jareth remained where he was for a long moment, a quick glance downward had him spotting the deep grooves his talons had involuntarily dug into the bark of the branch. A tidal wave of contradicting emotions swept over him, with a near-audible crash. A sizeable instinctual part of him wanted to run and run **fast**. The girl was trouble; that was more than evident.

He was now wholly shaken to his barest core, after only mere moments in her presence. He should go now, return to his castle, find a willing strumpet to sooth his ragged nerves and never think of the Sarah chit again. It was a solid and intelligent plan. However, the urgent sense of being tugged onward and the feeling of near mournful loss of the girl’s presence, had him disregarding said plan; nearly as quickly as it had bloomed within his mind.

Jareth knew there would be no lying to himself, not on this matter. Now that he had seen the girl, was aware of her luminous presence in this world, he knew with an inconvenient certainty that there would be no turning away. Besides, kings never ran from a challenge or difficulty. Cowardice was an unseemly attribute of peasant folk, and Jareth was **no** peasant. He might not quite understand the whole of the situation as of yet, but by the name of the Great Horned God, he **was** going to figure it all out!

Jareth swooped down from his perch, shifting back to his true form about a foot from the ground; landing gracefully on his booted feet with a soft _thud_. He paused for a moment more; his racing mind quickly weighing his options. He **had** to know more about this Sarah Williams, had to understand better the pull she had on him, and more important yet, had to solve the posing question of what to do about all of this. Decisions, decisions. He supposed he could shift back to his owl form and wait in a tree, near the front of the school, until she came out, then follow her home.

No, that option sounded entirely too dull. Besides, his pulse was pumping, and his entire being was practically humming with the need to be near her again. An icy tendril of fear began to once again twine around his heart. This compulsion…it would probably see him to his end.

Such things often went that way, with men who got far too ensnared in forces beyond their control. The thought chilled him to the bone, but as he had decided already, turning away just wasn’t on his limited list of options.

With a long, pent-up breath, Jareth made the snap decision to follow the glowing Sarah into the human school theater. His curiosity was quipped and not only about Sarah’s general existence. She was to play the Dane tonight, a performance he suddenly wished to witness more than anything and no longer just for the lark of laughing at mortal children.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Jareth willed himself to concentrate; clutching his slightly trembling hands to still fists and pushed his Fae power to the surface of his skin. His glamour washed over him; taking form from the image held tight within his mind.

Seconds later, Jareth looked down at himself; now seeing a pair of flawlessly tailored pinstriped suit pants and shiny black wingtip shoes, where there had previously been black leather breeches and knee-high boots. With a smirk of smug satisfaction, Jareth ran his now gloveless hands over the lapels of his matching pinstriped jacket. He then needlessly adjusted the perfectly starched collar of his plum-colored dress shirt and straightened his cobalt silk tie. If one absolutely had to don human clothing, _Armani_ was the only exception.

Running his fingers through his now drastically shortened hair, seemingly cut in the currently fashionable style among human males, Jareth took a deep breath and headed around the side of the building; to the entrance, he had seen the other mortals go through. As the humans were fond of saying, it was now or never. Luckily, appearance glamours didn’t require the bending of another’s mind or free will, thus he could continue to appear like this, all night if need be.

The crowded, horrid little theater, which the humans called a _auditorium_ , was positively packed to the brim with uninteresting looking people having hundreds of boring conversations all around him. Jareth found a vacant seat towards the front and tried his best to suppress an amused grin when a woman, a few seats down, began to admire him openly.

She stole over-long, and none too subtle, glances of him from the corner of her eye, then turned to murmur to another woman behind her. The silly female hadn’t the faintest idea that his keen Fae senses would allow him to hear her and her friend’s muttered whispers.

_“Check him out.”_

_“I know! I saw him come in. Gorgeous!”_

_“What do you think? Some hot-shot from the city? Look at that suit! It probably cost more than my car.”_

_“Wonder which kid is his. Looks a little young to have a kid in high school. He must have crazy-good genetics.”_

_“Wonder if he’s married. Did you see a ring?”_

_“No, there’s no ring. I checked first thing…”_

Jareth smirked to himself, making sure to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the pitiful excuse of a stage in front of him. He was well aware of his effect on mortal women when he appeared like this. He often glamoured himself this way, when in the Aboveground.

As his father had taught him long ago, there was power in one’s appearance. One only needed to know how to harness it properly. If you appeared a pauper, people doled out their respect accordingly, which was usually nil. If a man seemed to be powerful and the envy of his peers, however, one would be surprised how quickly others became what humans called _“putty”_ in their hands.

The sudden dimming of the lights cut through the surrounding noise like a hot knife through butter. If this had been a typical visit to the Aboveground, Jareth would have found himself instantly irritated with the sudden cut-off of the nearby females murmuring his praises.

When the rigid looking Ms. Crask took to the stage, woodenly thanked everyone for coming and announced the start of the first act, Jareth felt the breathless twinge of anticipation curl low within his stomach. Yes, he knew very well Hamlet didn’t appear until the second scene, but the very idea of laying eyes on his _firefly_ again, had his teeth digging into his lower lip and his foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the homely slate floor.

The dimwitted, acne-faced adolescents playing the parts of Bernardo, Francisco, Horatio, and Marcellus, tripped through their lines and bungled them to the point where they no longer even resembled anything that had ever been written by the likes of William Shakespeare. The gangly youth playing Marcellus had a cracking voice that was apparently in the midst of change and sounded much like a donkey being strangled to death, whenever he opened his slack-jawed mouth to speak.

The muttonhead child, filling the role of Francisco, kept forgetting his lines and had to be prompted by an irate Ms. Crask from off-stage, despite the fact that he was playing the character that possessed the least amount of dialogue in the scene.

The two playing Horatio and Bernardo were only mildly better, and that was just because they both rushed through their lines as if their very lives depended on getting the words out as quickly as they could. Thankfully, the quickness of their speech spared Jareth from completely comprehending just how poorly they butchered the lines. He couldn’t help but silently chuckle to himself when he recalled the Crask woman’s harsh words to Sarah and her friend.

_Perfection indeed…bah! This performance will have the poor Bard rolling in his grave for certain!_

Well, he supposed this should be the properly expected outcome when one tried to perform such a complex work as _Hamlet_ with a bunch of yammering mortal children. In fact, the whole thing was fairly comparable to someone attempting to create a replica of da Vinci’s _Mona Lisa_ with finger paints and crayon; utterly laughable.

The ornery Ms. Crask really should have known better. In other such circumstances, Jareth might have even indulged in the burning urge to throw his head back and have a good laugh at the complete mockery that was taking place onstage right before his very eyes. 

However, the closing of the curtain and flashing of the lights announced the start of the next scene and suddenly Jareth felt a great many things, but the need to laugh was not among them. The curtain opened on yet more awkward looking youths in the roles of King Claudius, Queen Gertrude, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, and Cornelius. However, Jareth scarcely acknowledged any of them.

He found his gaze instantly drawn, and quite helplessly pinned to, the small, radiant form standing among them. She was a rare bloom in a garden full of gangly weeds. Perhaps the comparison was a bit cliche, but it was true none the less. He supposed he could look upon her a countless number of times and would never fail to feel short of breath and as if someone had opened a trapdoor from directly under his feet.

The other actors, if such a term could be used so loosely, went about their lines in much the same manner of inadequacy as the first bunch. However, to Jareth’s surprise, the boy playing King Claudius wasn’t completely and utterly horrid. The youth didn’t quite inspire the same thoughts of pouring hot wax into his ear canals, to silence the beastly sound of badly mutilated Shakespearian dialogue that the others had.

The slightly portly teen executed his lines with a fair semblance of clarity, which bespoke of someone having at least attempted to coach him on the proper pacing and use of emotion behind the words. It was far from a passable performance by professional standards, but compared to the dull-eyed drip of a girl who played Queen Gertrude opposite him, the boy was a bloody genius.

At last, it was Sarah’s turn to speak, and Jareth hadn’t been quite sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been the clear-voiced and impeccable pronunciation that could have rivaled award-winning actors. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to take notice either. Even when Sarah only spoke the simple line of, _“Not so, my lord; I am too much I’ the sun,”_ Jareth noticed the rest of the audience around him had abruptly ceased fidgeting in their seats.

He recalled that Sarah had mentioned having an actress for a mother to the ginger-haired girl. Acting was in the blood pumping through Sarah’s very veins; as natural to her as breathing in air and it showed. 

Why Sarah had ever thought it best to hide behind the stage and why that idiot Crask woman hadn’t simply given her the starring role from the very start, Jareth had no earthly clue. He didn’t know precisely how adequate the David chap, who had been mentioned previously as the play’s intended dark prince of Denmark, had been at the role. However, he was completely certain the boy couldn’t have possibly held a candle to Sarah.

Sarah Williams commanded the stage and audience as a firm, but gentle mother would command her children. She was nothing short a theatrical prodigy, as she went about her monologues with flawless perfection. 

The only clue Sarah ever gave to her previous nervousness, was the nearly undetectable clenching and unclenching of her small fists whenever they would occasionally drop to her sides. If he hadn’t overheard her and her friend’s conversation before the show, Jareth would have been entirely unaware of any stage fright on her behalf. Her poise was excellent, her timing impeccable.

In fact, as the show went on, Jareth noticed a subtle change in the other children’s performances as well. They seemed to try just a bit harder, as soon as they saw how effortless Sarah made reciting Shakespearean dialogue look. They still fell horribly short of the mark, but a slight improvement was still an improvement none the less.

Throughout the show Jareth felt odd stirrings curl and twist to life inside him. This mortal girl made him feel things the likes of which he thought he would never feel and in just a short amount of time, she had completely turned his world upside down…and not just because she was admittedly giving one of the best portrayals of Hamlet he had ever seen.

Everything about Sarah Williams called to him; reached out and demanded his attention. He wasn’t even entirely sure that this was all simply because of her _Firefly_ status either. 

While Jareth did indeed revel in the beauty of her golden aura and did certainly feel its pull like a moth feels compulsion towards a bright flame; it was the hints of the fascinating girl beneath the surface of the shining golden mantel, which truly quipped his interest.

Yes, the fact that a mortal such as she could amplify his powers a thousandfold did have a certain appeal. Strangely enough, it seemed to go a great deal deeper than that. When Jareth looked at Sarah, he got the distinct and somewhat unsettling feeling; he was looking at the embodiment of his future. 

_"Everything happens for a reason, my son. You would be doing yourself a great service by not disregarding the importance of even the tiniest of events."_

Jareth let the memory of his father’s words roll around in his in head; taking their truth to heart and holding as tightly to them as one would cling to a tether in a particularly violent storm.

_You were right, father. You were so very right…_

On stage the last scene was playing out. Queen Gertrude lie dead, and Hamlet had just gotten his revenge upon his traitorous uncle, but the wound he had suffered from Laertes’ poison-tipped sword was making short work of the prince of Denmark. Hamlet collapsed to the ground; Horatio came to his side and propped his dying friend up in his arms.

_“O, I die, Horatio;_  
_The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:_  
_I cannot live to hear the news from England;_  
_But I do prophesy the election lights_  
_On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;_  
_So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,_  
_Which have solicited. The rest is silence.”_

Sarah gasped the lines with such fervent passion, that Jareth felt the involuntary prickle of gooseflesh break out along his arms. When she let out one last raspy death rattle and let her head drop limply in Horatio’s arms, as far as Jareth was concerned, the play was over, and there was no need for the last few lines. To keep from drawing unwanted attention to himself, the Goblin King forced himself to stay seated in his horrid, plastic-backed fold-out chair.

The blasted thing had a cushion about as soft as a wooden plank and was causing him to lose all sensation in his backside. Unsurprisingly, the last few lines were garbled and botched by the boys playing Horatio, Prince Fortinbras and the first Ambassador. As soon as Prince Fortinbras uttered the final butchered line, Jareth gave an audible sigh of relief. Never again would he subject himself to the unbearable torture known as a school play…unless of course, Sarah Williams was somehow able to play every role herself.

The idea gave Jareth pause. If he were to take Sarah to the Underground, he could make such a thing happen. His magic was more than capable of such a feat and having a bit of real culture in his kingdom would be a much welcome respite. Sarah could perform for him every night; everything from the classics, to works written just for her.

Of course, the blasted goblins would most likely complain to no end if they ever had to watch anything other than that cursed Gibbergeist and his infernal tripe bugle, night after night. How anyone could find any entertainment value in music produced from a cow’s stomach, was beyond Jareth. In fact, he found himself to be immeasurably generous in even referring to it as _music_ in the first place.

Goblin entertainment was one of the largest reasons for Jareth’s regular visits to the Aboveground. In the goblin realm, Gibbergeist was as good as it got. In fact, the dunderhead goblin was considered a celebrity of the highest status, for being a musician, playwright, and actor; again, all those terms were used **very** loosely. If only the tripe bugle were the worst of it! 

Gibbergeist’s plays went on for days; literally days! Merely sitting through an hour of the goblin's absurd nonsense had Jareth feeling as if his brains were turning to mush within his very skull. How anyone could stand days of that sort of torture and enjoy it, utterly boggled Jareth's mind. Gibbergeist’s most popular play to date was a hundred and fifty hour-long epic. It was set in a self-service mortuary and was so 'cleverly' entitled _The Last Prawn._

_The last Prawn_ went in the manner of all Gibbergeist’s plays; the dialogue made little to no sense and often changed from performance to performance. The character’s monologues were often interrupted in favor of sudden ear-violating solos on the tripe bugle. The characters were also all given names such as _Hairy Ball of Clay_ and _Rusty Fork._

Half the time the names were even interchangeable. For example, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a character called _Ball of Lint_ in the first half of the play, to suddenly be called _Wart on Toe_ in the latter half of the performance. Also, at the end of each play, and _The Last Prawn_ was no exception, Gibbergeist had an elaborate death scene.

The tiresome goblin's character always went about the process of dying for hours, sometimes days. These performances never failed to reduce his goblins to tears. However, they only succeeded in making Jareth entertain the idea of drinking poison, or slitting his wrists, just to escape the unbridled hell in which Gibbergeist had visited upon him.

If Jareth could have gotten away with bogging the blasted Gibbergeist and banishing him to live amongst the _bog dwellers_ , he would have done it ages ago. There were even times when the idea of letting the damned goblin rot in an Oubliette or having him mowed down by _the Cleaners_ , held a certain appeal. However, unspeakable torture or not, most of his subjects adored Gibbergiest and his long-winded performances.

The untimely demise of their beloved performer would probably result in a massive goblin uprising. So Jareth simply had to accept Gibbergiest’s hellish plays as his wretched lot in life. Strangely enough, seemed to be the blasted goblin’s only real critic. Hell, even the made-goblins seemed to like him a great deal more than Jareth would have guessed.

Well, he supposed if one was to be exposed to a particular culture for long enough, they began absorbing it. If his father hadn’t exposed him to far superior forms of entertainment from an early age, Jareth himself might have very well been amongst the nitwits weeping over Gibbergiest’s portrayal of the _Ghost of Breakfast Past_. He shuddered at the thought.

Sarah performing in his court would be a **much** welcome change. In fact, his goblins might even sit through her portrayal of Hamlet, as long as Gibbergiest blew on his blasted tripe bugle in the background behind her. The rest of the time, he supposed she would give him private performances; an idea that had him thoroughly intrigued.

Yes, Sarah Williams **would** become part of the goblin court. He would see to it. The only question left was how to go about bringing her to the Underground.

After the curtain came down and the players had taken their last bows, the applause was enthusiastically given, especially for Sarah. Jareth stayed ever-patently seated and eyed the multitude of family members making their way to the front of the auditorium, to where the performing children where now congregating at the base of the stage.

He watched the mortal children accept bouquets of flowers and small stuffed trinkets from their relatives; lapping up the false praise showered upon them by their overindulgent mothers and fathers, like contented cats basking in the sun. Jareth’s gaze raked the crowd with an urgency bordering on desperation until she finally appeared.

Sarah had changed into a simple pink blouse, a faded denim jacket, and blue jeans. Her otherworldly glow illuminated the small doorway that led to the backstage area, as she stepped from the shadows and into the light. Jareth at once found himself wondering just how many more times she could take his breath away in just a short amount of time.

A few of the other children’s parents looked up and offered Sarah their heartfelt congratulations, as she hesitantly merged into their gathering. Even the ever critical Ms. Crask approached to comment on what an exceptional job Sarah had done and had even insisted she audition for the leading role in the school’s winter pageant, in a few months’ time.

A sudden sense of pride welled within Jareth, to the point where he felt an involuntary smile begin to pull at the corners of his mouth. Despite the fact that Sarah had just single-handedly carried that otherwise rotting carcass of a play, she only stood there quietly, nodding and commenting only when needed; her hands folded demurely in front of her. She gracefully accepted her praises, as regal as any queen. 

However, it didn’t escape Jareth’s notice that Sarah continuously scanned the group of gathered friends and relatives, with hope and expectation shinning flame-bright in her eyes. He watched with keen interest from his seat across the room, as a dark-haired man and a statuesque blonde female (who had a belly quite swollen with child), approached young Sarah in a manner that could only be described as cautious. Their hands were absent of flowers and gifts, which caused a scowl to color Jareth’s face instantly. After the girl performed her heart out, she would be the only actor who wouldn’t receive a token of her achievement. 

That very idea nettled Jareth to no end, and he gnashed his teeth with the effort of tamping down the burning urge to shout at, whom he guessed to be her parents, for their foolish neglect. Then again, he recalled the conversation Sarah had with Genevieve and remembered that Sarah’s parents had only expected her to be part of the backstage crew. How very proud of her they must be now!

Jareth pricked his sensitive Fae ears for the sounds of expected praise and adulation pouring from the lips of the girl’s parents. Sarah too seemed to be practically giddy with the anticipation of their forthcoming congratulations, because she beamed up at her father with a smile that could have quite possibly lit up Jareth’s entire castle.

“You did very well, Sarah. Ms. Crask found us just before the show and told us you were going to get to play Hamlet. That was a nice surprise,” her father said with a subdued smile on his bland face, giving his daughter a somewhat distracted pat on the shoulder, before turning his full attention to the woman by his side. “Are you doing alright, sweetheart? It couldn’t have been very comfortable for you in that hard chair.”

Jareth very nearly bit off his tongue as a tumultuous wave of ire swept over him, upon seeing Sarah’s hopeful face crumple with bitter disappointment. She had been bloody brilliant, and they could scarcely spare her a moment of their blasted attention!

“I’m doing fine enough. My back is a little sore though,” the blonde woman replied, rubbing a hand fondly over the swell of her belly. “That was a very moving performance, Sarah. Looks like you’ve inherited your mother’s talent,” she smiled, but her eyes were still locked firmly on the bulge of her unborn child, her tone distant. It was as if everything other than the babe growing within her, were a mere afterthought.

Just then, Jareth noticed something inside Sarah visibly snap, with a flaring of her delicate nostrils and the clenching of her small fists.

“Don’t talk about my mother like you know her! You don’t know anything about her, Karen!” Sarah suddenly bristled at the woman, her voice ratcheting in volume; vivid, scarlet blotches of anger marring her angelic face.

The collective of nearby performers and their families, instantly went graveyard quiet; openly gawking at the sudden outburst with a sort of sadistic expectancy. The blonde woman let out a small gasp of surprise, at the force of Sarah’s vehemence, turning to her husband with a not so hushed murmur of, “Robert…are you going to just stand there and allow her to speak to me like that?”

The bland-faced man, _Robert_ , let out a bone-weary sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Everything about his body language belied the fact that such displays weren’t all that an uncommon of an occurrence.

“Sarah, how many times must I remind you to show your stepmother some respect? Karen is in a very delicate condition right now, and I need you to think of what kind of stress you’re putting on her and the baby,” Robert released his grip on the bridge of his nose to scrub his hand over his face dejectedly. 

He cut his daughter a look, which Jareth supposed the man had meant to be the very picture of a stern father, preparing to give no quarter to his defiant offspring. However, the threadbare remains of Robert’s obviously shot nerves had given his words a slight pleading quality; one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his daughter.

Sarah, evidently rethinking the words she had just opened her mouth to utter in retaliation, closed her jaw with an audible _snap_. Her gaze darted to her stepmother’s rounded belly before she lowered her head in shame and mumbled a strained apology of a quick, "I'm sorry, Karen."

“Alright then, let’s head home so Karen can lie down and put her feet up,” Robert sighed, apparently lacking the will to insist upon a more articulate apology from Sarah and took his wife by the hand, turning towards the exit.

Jareth watched his glowing beauty take a few steps forward and instantly poised himself to rise to his feet and follow.

“Wait, Dad. I forgot to ask you something,” Sarah suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, and Jareth reluctantly eased back into the ghastly metal chair with a barely suppressed groan; impatiently awaiting Sarah’s next move.

Robert didn’t bother to give his daughter a verbal response, only turned and cast her the tired sort of look, which asked, _"What is it now?"_

Jareth clenched his fists in his lap. He was fast forming an overall opinion of Robert Williams; one that wasn’t entirely all that complimentary. 

“Everyone, the cast, and the crew are getting together at _Chevy’s_ in a little bit, as a sort of after-party. Can we go? Parents are welcome… **please**?” Sarah beamed at Robert, that irresistible light of expectant joy returning to her beautiful green eyes. 

Jareth couldn’t readily recall what this _Chevy’s_ was, but he was positively certain that if he had been the one on the receiving end of that disarming look of hers, he could have denied her nothing.

Robert let out another long, tension-laden sigh as if merely answering her were somehow depleting him of his energy.

“Sarah, I just told you… Karen needs to get home. How about you get a ride with Genevieve and her parents, okay?” Robert reached into the back pocket of his slacks, pulled out his wallet and extracted some human currency. “Here,” he waved the money at his daughter in a manner that practically bristled with impatient dismissal.

Sarah gave the bills in her father’s outstretched hand, a wounded glance. She made no move to take them.

“But…can we just drop Karen at home and then the two of us could go? You know, like we use to? When you and Mom were still together, we always went to _Chevy’s_ …” Sarah trailed off, and Jareth noticed the way she began to rapidly blink as if she were trying to hold back tears.

Robert only sighed yet again, dropping his outstretched arm limply to his side and pinched the bridge of his nose once more, as if the trifle requests of his daughter were more than he could bear. The man was a bloody fool!

“Sarah, you know very well that things are a lot different now. A lot is going on with getting ready for the new baby, and I really need your understanding. I’ve got to go home and finish getting the nursery set-up. That crib isn’t going to put itself together, and someone needs to be with Karen in case she needs anything. We can go to _Chevy’s_ some other time when things calm down a bit. Alright? Just take the money and go with Genevieve,” Robert held the paper currency out to her once again, but Sarah only ignored it with an indignant sniff.

“You mean when things calm down after the baby comes and there are diapers to change and a million other things to do? Yeah, you’ll really have so much time for me then! All you care about anymore is **her** and that stupid baby!” Sarah shot a curt nod in Karen’s direction, “I don’t even matter anymore at all, do I?”

“Now, you see here young lady-” Robert began, his face flushed and his eyes daring a glance at the nearby families, who were once again watching them with rapt interest.

“No! **You** see here! I’m tired of being treated like a problem and a hassle! You’ve got a new family now, so you don’t care about me anymore!” Sarah shouted, and Jareth caught the first glimpse of crystalline tears beginning to brim at the corners of her eyes.

The Goblin King felt his heart wrench painfully within his chest. He breathed in a short, ragged inhalation; practically woozy with the alien emotions that seeing the girl in such a state caused to churn violently within him. Why in the bloody hell did he suddenly feel such a powerful urge to hit something? Preferably her father’s face!

Couldn’t that dolt see plainly that his daughter felt neglected? If he recalled the earlier conversation between Sarah and her friend correctly, Sarah’s mother had refused to come because she had deemed Sarah’s participation in the backstage functions as unimportant; thus missing her daughter’s unexpected star performance.

Now even her father was refusing to give Sarah the attention she deserved for what she had accomplished! Why in the name of the great Horned God were humans such a thick-headed lot? 

“That’s enough, Sarah! Go wait by the car this instant! We’re going straight home. You're grounded for the next two weeks. No friends and no phone. Do I make myself clear?”

“You’ve made yourself **perfectly** clear,” Sarah muttered between gritted teeth and turned sharply on her heel; her dark hair whipping behind her as she stormed out of the building, without so much as a backward glance.

Jareth glanced towards the girl’s parents. The blonde stepmother was lamenting how much Sarah despised her and how nothing she did was ever good enough for the supposedly spoiled girl. Although, Jareth didn’t recall a single instance during the recent scene when this Karen had uttered a single word in her stepdaughter’s defense.

The fact that the woman had pointedly ignored how much Sarah had obviously needed the attention of her father this night but had chosen to say nothing, in favor of keeping her husband by **her** side, spoke volumes. 

This told Jareth all he needed to know about the character of Sarah’s stepmother. She was of a considerably selfish sort, the kind whom enjoyed all attention aimed securely in their direction and just merely **had** to be treated as the most important being in the room at all times. Well, he supposed she wasn’t all that unlike himself in that regard, he thought with a grin of pride.

Karen went about securing this role in a subtle and underhanded fashion though, where he plainly demanded respect and admiration. Jareth almost admired her sly and somewhat devious technique. She was an artist of emotional manipulation; knowing exactly when to say nothing and to just let Sarah’s tendency towards emotional outbursts make it look as if the entirety of the problem rested with the girl.

This chosen method seemed to work like an absolute charm, on the oblivious Robert, whose main objective seemed to be simply ignoring anything of any degree of difficulty. His new wife clearly _ruled the roost_ , as the human expression went. So simply going along with what he knew Karen would want, seemed to be the easiest course of action for Robert to take.

Judging from what Jareth had just observed of the man, Robert Williams seemed to be all about doing things the easiest way possible. He seemed to be of the mind, that if he purposely refused to look any deeper at the obvious friction between his daughter and wife, the whole situation would simply right itself.

It was no wonder that the man seemed to have so much trouble with his personal relationships. He simply didn’t want to deal with any of them, which seemed just fine by Karen. She seemed to use the very fact that her husband was an emotional cripple, to her utmost advantage.

Poor Sarah was the victim in all this, and no one seemed to pay the least bit of mind to the fact that she was dealing with an extremely difficult situation, for one so young. From the sound of it, Sarah's mother had used her failed marriage with her father as a convenient excuse to all but abandon her daughter for her career, which was already upsetting for Sarah in itself.

On top of that, the poor girl had to deal with a domineering stepmother who seemed to have not a single care for what Sarah had recently endured, as long as she got her way. The poor sod she now called her husband, was just a puppet on a string. Such a pity.

A self-satisfied grin tugged at the corners of Jareth’s mouth, as his devilish mind began to whirl and click with dozens of ideas and newly formed plots. Well, if Sarah were so terribly unwanted by everyone in her life, he (being the generous soul he was) would be more than willing to take her off their hands.

He would gladly whisk her away to his land, where he would then gift her all of her dreams and cater to her every whim. She would want for nothing; he would make certain of it. She would perform any play she so desired, to a room full of admirers every night. He would throw her balls and grand parties. He would give her dresses spun of silk and gold. Young Sarah was a precious treasure to be sure, and he would treat her as such. 

Yet, how to go about claiming his treasure? That was the real puzzle. Taking a human to the Underground was always a complicated affair. The Fae were bound to respect free will and merely glamouring a human to enter the world of Faerie, was against the rules, not to mention; strictly forbidden.

For the human to legitimately become the property of the Underground, said mortal had to sign a contract or violate boundaries of the Fae world; such as stepping into a toadstool ring on the witching hour of Samhain or following a Will-O-Wisp across the veil.

There was also the option of striking a bargain. If the mortal in question entered into an agreement involving themselves visiting the Underground, then they would be automatically susceptible to the thirteen-hour rule. Any human remaining in the Underground past thirteen hours, would then become a part of Faerie forever; their humanity quickly diminishing, as they became Fae themselves.

Jareth’s plotting mind suddenly recalled his Labyrinth and his little game, which he now seldom got to play, since the majority of the mortal world had stopped believing in his kind. Yes, that could work. Sarah was undoubtedly the strong-willed sort; if he presented her the offer to become his outright, he was utterly confident that fear of the unknown, and her before demonstrated tendency for defiance, would have her instantly refusing him…and he couldn’t have that.

When the Goblin King set his sights on something, he got it. Simple as that. However, some situations had to be played delicately, if he were to achieve his goal. If Sarah were to become his, he would have to plan carefully…

“Come on Robert, my feet are swollen. I need to go home and lie down,” Karen was now pulling her husband by the hand, and towards the exit, Sarah had stormed out of just a moment before.

Well, that was his cue. One couldn’t hope to win a challenge unless one thoroughly learned one’s opponent first. Knowing precisely with whom you were dealing with was vital. Besides, it wasn’t as if getting to know the lovely Sarah was a chore he was dreading. Quite the contrary.

She had only just left his presence, and he was already craving her company like a weak mortal would crave a drug. It was both devastatingly unsettling and ultimately exhilarating. Gods, it had been far too long since he’d felt this sort of range of vivid emotion. He hadn’t realized just how numb he’d become inside, until the lovely Sarah had instantly awoken his ability to feel, with just one look.

Silently slipping from his rather uncomfortable seat, Jareth followed behind the Williams clan. As he silently stalked his quandary out of the auditorium, a bright orange flyer tacked to an overcrowded bulletin board, which hung near the exit, caught his eye.

**Don’t miss the annual Nyack Halloween parade! The best parade in Rockland County!**

The flyer announced in a bold, eye-grabbing font.

So he was in Rockland County. That wasn’t all that terribly far from New York City. The corner of Jareth’s mouth turned up in a self-effacing smirk. It was truly ironic that he had been longing for the alluring pleasures of the city, but just a short time before and now, it was the furthest thing from both his mind and desires. His _firefly_ was the only thing that mattered at the moment. 

He tailed the Williams’ to the school’s parking lot. In the distance, he spotted Sarah. Her glow cut through the darkness around her slight frame, like a spotlight. A permanent spotlight for a bloody brilliant actress. It was fitting, Jareth mused. He watched her sulkily lean against a clunky beige station wagon; her arms defiantly crossed over her chest.

Because the sun had set during the play, the shadowy obsidian cover of the night provided Jareth enough privacy to duck behind a nearby parked van and shift to his owl form, without being spotted. He spread his wings and took gracefully to the moonlit sky, just as Robert pulled the family car out of the crowded lot and headed for home. Of course, none of the Williams’ noticed the owl tailing them from up above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give full credit of the creation of the goblin entertainer Gibbergiest, his tripe bugle and his play _The Last Prawn_ to Brian Froud; the author of the book _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ (a must-have for any Labyrinth fan). Brian Froud was the concept artist for the movie Labyrinth. His son, Toby Froud, was the baby who played Sarah's baby brother (just a fun fact for those who didn't know). I wanted the setting of this fic to have the same feel of Jim Henson's whimsical world, so a lot of the Labyrinth creatures featured in this work will have come from Brian Froud's books _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ and _Good Faeries/Bad Faeries_. Seriously, if you've never seen Mr. Froud's amazing artwork and/or have never read one of his books, you need to do so ASAP. Also, another fun fact; I wrote Sarah's home to be in Nyack NY (even though they never mention where she lives in the film) because both the park scene and home scene, at the beginning of the movie, were filmed in Nyack NY. So I figured, why not make Sarah actually from Nyack? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


	3. Of Past Mistakes and Future Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jareth continues to bitterly recall the events that lead to his ruin, but once stirred from his musings of remorse; the Goblin King realizes that he may have possessed the solution to his problem all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally intended to be part of the previous chapter, but I realized it would have been insanely long if I didn't brake it up. So, this chapter picks up right in the middle of Jareth's memories of meeting Sarah and continues onward. Sorry about the awkward brake in the flashback, but I had to cut it off somewhere.

* * *

_Brave, feisty, mischievous, young, yet from an ancient race: her eyes express the unfathomable mysteries of the dark space between stars and the mystery of the bond between the faerie soul and ours._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p.64)_

* * *

Jareth followed the unsuspecting mortal family to a two-story, Victorian-style home, with a large wrap-around porch. His keen Fae/owl sight allowed him to clearly take in every detail of the place the lovely Sarah called home, even in the dark of night. The house was painted a bland buttery yellow, with crisp white trim and railing. He supposed it could be considered charming by human standards.

He, of course, was used to much grander surroundings. Yet, as far as mundane dwellings went, it wasn’t half bad. He glided effortlessly and unseen, to the roofline of the Williams’ home.

He took perch on the rain gutter, facing the front of the property and intently watched as Robert drove the station wagon into the home’s spacious garage. A moment later, Jareth could hear the faint thuds of car doors shutting, followed by the exuberant barking of a canine. 

“Come on, Merlin. Let’s go inside,” Jareth heard Sarah’s voice from down below, then spotted her heading out of the garage with a shaggy, grey and white beast at her heels.

“You see! Look at her just ignoring everything I say as if I have zero authority in my own home!” Karen was fuming at her husband, as she waddled out of the garage; pointing angrily at the large canine following behind her stepdaughter. 

Robert let out the long, laborious sigh of someone being forced to deal with things that were far out of their comfort zone.

“Sarah, hold on right there. You know good and well that your stepmother is allergic to Merlin. That’s why he sleeps in the garage. This isn’t anything new. You can’t go ignoring the house rules just because you’re upset that you didn’t get your way tonight,” Robert called out to his daughter and scrubbed a weary hand over his jaw.

Sarah only dug her heels into the ground and began to stomp her foot, in a brazen display of indignant anger.

“You know the whole allergy thing is made up! I’ve never seen her sneeze or break-out once! She tells you she’s allergic, so she won’t look like a jerk just because she doesn’t want dog hair on her expensive furniture!” Sarah shouted.

“Well I never! See how she disrespects me? Here we go again with the wicked stepmother nonsense!” Karen cried.

“Well Karen, if you don’t want to be a wicked stepmother, then stop acting like one!” Sarah shot back, and if he had been in man form, Jareth would have grinned and perhaps, even applauded.

His _firefly_ had such moxie! Sarah was a spirited and wild little thing, who naturally challenged authority. Oh how he was going to enjoy taming her.

“That's enough, young lady! You’ve just upped your grounding from two weeks to three! Now go to your room this instant!” Robert jabbed a finger towards the house.

Sarah let out a long, guttural sound, something between a groan and a shout. She then stomped her foot one last time, before lowering her head and grumbling to the dog at her feet.

“Go on, Merlin. Go to the garage.”

The shaggy beast gave a low whine, as if sensing his mistress was in distress, but turned and headed to the garage after Sarah made a shooing motion with her hands.

“Happy now?” Sarah shot acidly over her shoulder and marched into the house as if she were actively trying to punch holes in the porch and floor with her petulantly heavy steps.

Below him, Karen was bemoaning her ill-treatment (once again). Robert, who appeared to be completely sans-testicles; comforted his poor, put-upon wilting dove. Jareth gave the owl equivalent of an eye roll and hastily launched himself from the rain gutter.

He had more worthy pursuits to attend to, instead of witnessing yet another one of Karen’s shameless attention grabs. He needed to find out which window belonged to his _firefly_.

After circling the top story of the Williams’ home, Jareth spotted a light suddenly flickering on in a window that was conveniently level with a rather massive oak tree. Jareth landed within the oak’s towering branches and peered through the parted lace curtains of the lit window.

He spotted his Sarah sitting on a, somewhat homely looking, white four-poster cannonball bed. It was topped with a garish, orange partial-canopy, which would have had his lip curling in distaste if he had indeed been in a form that possessed lips.

A ragtag collection of mismatched quilts were piled atop the bed’s narrow surface, which made Jareth inwardly scoff. Such meager trappings. Once Sarah was his, he would give her a genuinely opulent suite; adorned with the most exquisite silks, satins and hand-tatted laces from the elven realm.

Tiresome bores those elves, but even he had to admit, they produced some bloody fine lace.

Jareth was torn from his admittedly daft thoughts of elves and their textile expertise, by the sound of soft, muffled sobbing. The girl was hunched over, her lovely face buried in her hands, as her small body trembled with her bitter weeping. For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Jareth’s heart broke for her.

He found it all rather ironically amusing. Before that night, he hadn’t realized he possessed much of a heart at all. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant of a feeling either; to care about something other than the preservation of own his kingdom; to want to protect and shield someone, other than his subjects, for the sake of said kingdom preservation.

It was, however, a somewhat unusual sensation; almost exhilarating…and if he were frank with himself, more than a bit frightening. There were a scarce few things out in the vast, unfathomable universe that frightened the Goblin King. So when he looked upon the girl and admittedly felt the first twinges of fear for the unknown plucking at him; stealing his breath right from his very lungs, it was indeed saying something.

Without even really thinking about it, Jareth surrendered to impulse and found himself launching from the protective cover of the tree’s branches, to glide the short distance to Sarah’s windowsill.

_What in the sodding hell am I even doing?_

Before he could further question his burst of spontaneity, the Goblin King found himself softly pecking at the glass of her window, just enough to get her attention. Through the glass, he saw her angelic, tear-stained face, lift from her palms, to regard him with comically wide eyes. A naturally curious creature, his _firefly_. Sarah wasted no time crossing the room and sliding her screenless window open.

“Whoa! Where did you come from?” She marveled at him, “Aren’t you beautiful!”

Jareth couldn’t resist preening a bit under her appreciative stare. If she thought him pleasant to look upon in his current form, what would she think of him as a man? He was almost tempted to find out. **Almost**. He knew he had to play this whole matter very carefully and not spring too much on the girl just yet.

He was already pushing it a bit as it was. There would be plenty of time to appear to Sarah as he truly was, but not now. For the time being, Jareth only wanted to stop Sarah’s tears and bring her just a tiny measure of unexpected joy.

“Hey…I saw you earlier! You were in the tree at the school! Wow…did you follow me home? How in the world…wow, this is so cool! And you’re letting me get so close! Awesome!” Sarah gushed enthusiastically, pausing only to wipe her wet eyes on the sleeve of the jacket she still wore. 

If Jareth had been capable in his current form, he would have smiled wide at her unabashed adoration.

Gods, but she was breathtaking when she smiled. Her golden glow seemed to flair just the tiniest bit brighter with her sudden burst of excitement. Truly, he could look upon her for endless hours and not grow weary of the utterly incandescent sight of her. 

“See, the ancient Romans were full of it. You’re not bad luck at all. I totally nailed the play! It was a piece of cake. You brought me good luck, didn’t you?” Sarah grinned and lowered herself to the cushioned window seat so that she could be at his level.

Having absolved not to shift in front of her just yet, Jareth could only cock his feathered head to the side and blink at her, in lieu of a response.

“If only you could work your luck mojo on the step-monster and get her to leave. Now that would be something,” Sarah laughed, and the last dregs of her sadness seemed to drain from her lovely face.

_I would banish the shrew to the bottom of the bog for you, in just a mere fraction of a second, if but I could._

Blast his limitations regarding mortals!

“Ms. Crask was right. You **do** seem like you’re listening. You’re a very special owl, aren’t you? Maybe you were someone’s pet that got away? Because you certainly don’t act like any other wild owl I’ve ever heard of. I still can’t believe you followed me home! Yeah, you have to be an escaped pet. There’s no other explanation,” Sarah mused.

_Pah! Pet indeed! Oh and If only I thought you could handle the true explanation of things right now…_

“Hmmm…maybe you have some form of ID? Like a tag or something? Your owner must be missing you. I know that sometimes people put tracking bands, or tags, on birds…maybe your owner did that? Here, let me see…” Sarah dipped her head to peer at his legs and talons. “Nope, no band…maybe you have a tag somewhere on your wings?” She muttered and before Jareth knew it; her fingers were brushing whisper-soft against the feathers of his right wing.

Jareth couldn’t put words to the sensation that shot through him the second Sarah’s nimble fingers brushed against him. It was almost like an electrical zap, but a lot less unpleasant. It filled him with a kind of rushing warmth, which made his head woozy and his surroundings spin for just a second, as if he’d drunk too much goblin ale and had tried to stand up too quickly. 

_What in the bloody bog was that?!_

Apparently the unnerving sensation wasn’t one-sided. He knew Sarah had felt it too because the second it happened, she’d dropped her hand and let out a small squeak of alarm. 

“Wha…what just happened? That was so weird! It was like this…tingling, warm… **zap**. So freaky!” She exclaimed, holding up her hand to inspect the perfect, unmarred flesh there.

Jareth’s mind was still reeling. All he could do was look at her and blink with his large, owl eyes.

_Seriously, what in the name of the Horned God was that?_

“I wonder if it was some sort of static shock…although, I’ve never felt static shock quite like that before. I wonder what would happen if I touched you again…” Sarah muttered, seemingly more to herself than him.

 _No! Don’t bloody do that again!_

Without even giving it much thought, he found himself winging backward and away from the sill; to the relative safety of the nearby tree. 

“Oh…I didn’t mean to scare you! Sorry. Come here, I didn’t even finish searching you for a tag,” Sarah called to him, half leaning out of her open window; holding out a slender, beseeching hand.

Part of Jareth wanted to go to her, to let her run her fingers through his feathers and further explore whatever that odd feeling had been. However, the other part of him (the part primarily centered upon self-preservation) told him that until he better understood what was happening, it was best to avoid the touch of Sarah Williams.

Sarah continued to try and lure him back for a moment; going so far as to make a series of air-kissing noises as if she were calling a dog. If he’d been able to scowl at her from his perch in the tree, he would have. He was no pet mongrel. He was a sodding king for bog’s sake!

Before Jareth could even calculate what his next move might be, he became aware of a sort of _fizzing_ sensation burbling up from within him; as if his insides were filled with a myriad of tiny champagne bubbles that were all tickling inside of him at once. It was a far more subtle sensation than before. Nothing as jolting as when Sarah had brushed his feathers with her hand.

However, something was most definitely afoot, and despite his usually calm demeanor, he began to panic; wings flapping uselessly at his side, avian chest heaving, as he struggled to process what was happening. Then suddenly, there was an odd sort _clicking_ sound echoing in his ears. It was as if he were hearing it from the end of an extensive tunnel and then, just like that, he was hit with a surge of… **power**!

Jareth’s whole being crackled with it; an unexpected burst of energy that had him feeling as if he could suddenly launch himself from the tree and fly clear across the entire mortal world in less than a day. Every fiber and cell within his being felt as if it were aflame, but in a good way. A very, **very** good way. Jareth’s very soul fairly vibrated with a concentrated flood of stamina and vitality. 

_So, this is what it is like…to know the touch of a firefly_.

His father had told him vague accountings of Fae who had encountered and experienced the effects of a _firefly’s_ power, but he’d had no real inkling that it could be anything like he was currently feeling. No mere story could have possibly prepared Jareth for a sensation such as this; feeling as if all he had to do was crook his little finger and all of the realms in Faeire would be laid at his feet. All of that from just one small touch!

“Hey! Mr. Owl…you okay? You look like something’s got you spooked pretty badly. I won’t hurt you, I promise. _Pffft_ …Why am I even trying to reason with an owl anyway? You can’t understand me, no matter how well trained you are. Okay, maybe I can lure you back over with some meat or something."

"I think Karen has some of her leftover pot-roast in the fridge. Not sure how tempting you’ll find it because I thought it was about as tasty as trying to eat the sole of an old boot…but it’s worth a try I guess,” Sarah shrugged and pulled her upper body back through the window.

“Hang tight, I’ll be right back. Oh God, there I go again, trying to reason with an owl,” Sarah muttered, and Jareth watched her retreating form through the window, as she hurried out her bedroom door.

A feeling of loss so heavy, he supposed the words to express it adequately, simply did not exist, suddenly came crashing down on him; like a sack full of bricks. If Jareth had thought he’d felt a keen sense of deprivation at not being in Sarah’s immediate presence before, he had been grossly mistaken.

**This** …this was an alarming new level of desperation. He felt as if an essential piece of himself had been somehow torn, raw and aching, right from his very body. For the second time that evening, Jareth found himself frantically gouging the branch on which he perched, to prevent plummeting to the ground.

To make matters entirely worse; the crushing, suffocating sense of near grief-like loss began to clash against the inner surge of vitality he’d just started experiencing, and the effect was…well, to say _agony_ would be putting it mildly. No, it was no mere agony…it was more like Jareth’s very soul were being ripped in two and his mind was being shattered, like a sledgehammer through a glass window.

_No! Dear Gods, no! It’s too much! No!_

With that, he did the only thing he could think to do. He got the hell away, the farthest _away_ he could think to go; back home to the Underground. 

Jareth appeared in his chamber, still in owl form; wings flapping blindly, talons tearing at nothing but air; the mindless panic of his ordeal making him all but sightless to his surroundings. He lurched in midair and propelled himself forward, only to fly right into the wall just above his bed. Stunned and with the wind knocked clean from his lungs, his small, avian body hit his silken coverlet below, with a soft _thud._

 _Well, bugger…_  
He thought, just before his world went black and swallowed him whole.

When Jareth awoke, what he deemed to be a short time later, he found himself shifted back to his true form and feeling surprisingly well for having just endured a rather hellish ordeal. In fact, he felt as if he’d just awoken from some incredibly pleasant dream, after having slumbered like a wee babe all night.

Yet, his sharp Fae instincts and intuition told him that not even an hour had passed since he had transported home in a hysterical frenzy. Slowly, he sat up on the bed and took stock of his person. Jareth flexed and stretched where he sat and when all seemed well, he stood and gingerly paced the darkened room. Remarkably, he didn’t have so much as even a bruise or a single muscle twinge; not even the slightest headache from hitting the wall with such force.

_Odd…_

Yes, children of Faerie healed a great deal quicker than mortals. The Fae were also extremely harder to kill. However, pummeling head (or beak) first into solid stone should have left him at least a bit sore. Strangely, he felt positively rejuvenated. 

_Hmmm…_

He’d wager it had something to do with Sarah’s touch. He paused at that thought, recalling the intense dueling sensations that had battled fiercely within him, just before he had returned home. He shuddered, remembering the feeling of being internally ripped apart…it had nearly driven him completely mad.

Again, he took stock of himself. Gone were both the feelings of raw power and overwhelming loss. Jareth felt himself entirely once again; not a single trace of what he’d felt earlier remained. Except for his rapt fascination with the girl. That remained altogether intact.

In fact, Jareth reasoned, he was probably even more enthralled than before. Frankly, he hadn’t the slightest clue why. A sane man would have run as far as bloody possible (after the encounter at the window), and while Jareth had retreated temporarily, he wasn’t planning on giving up or running anywhere.

Besides, there were a great many beings in both the Underground and Aboveground whom often referred to him as _stark raving mad_. It would be bad form to contradict them, and Jareth had always relished rising to the occasion when presented with a challenge.

Sarah Williams and her unique gift were undoubtedly going to offer him a challenge, but one that he would win. He rather enjoyed winning and was particularly good at it.

Oh yes, he would most definitely win the fair Sarah, mind, body, and soul and then…he’d make her his queen. His mind reeling with a myriad of possibilities, Jareth crossed the room and plopped down in his favorite leather armchair; right in front of his massive marble hearth, carved with stunningly elaborate scenes of frolicking nymphs, hooved satyrs, and galloping centaurs.

With a flick of his wrist, a fire bloomed within the grate, and Jareth leaned back in his chair, to watch the hypnotic dance of the flames. Absently, he tapped a gloved finger to his chin; wholly lost to his spiraling thoughts and devious plans.

Never before had Jareth entertained such notions. Never before had he looked upon another and pictured them ruling by his side. Never before had he been even remotely inclined to take a queen. All his other consorts had been ordinary, even the ones who had been magically inclined. They’d been but mere twinkles in a sky already overcrowded with stars.

Sarah however, shone as bright as the sun itself. She was no ordinary girl, and no matter what it took, Jareth would learn to master the strange power she had over him; to tame it as he would the spirited girl who wielded it. She was a _firefly_ of genuinely extraordinary power, and she would be his most coveted treasure; the shining, golden jewel of his kingdom.

With a flick of his fingers, Jareth conjured a crystal orb into the seat of his palm. All he had to do was think her name, and there she was; her image displayed inside the crystal, for his eyes alone. As he looked at Sarah, his lips automatically twitched with an unbidden smile, at just the mere sight of her.

She had fallen fast asleep; her pile of quilts heaped atop her like a protective cocoon, with only her pale, lovely face just barely peeking from beneath the mass of covers. Her window stood wide open, curtains billowing in the breeze.

A plate of some rather distasteful looking meat perched on the sill. Karen’s pot-roast, he supposed. Sarah was still hoping her owl would come back to her, Jareth realized with a self-satisfied smirk. Silly chit, she would certainly catch her death of cold. New York in autumn could be quite frigid. 

Jareth supposed he couldn’t let his future bride perish from pneumonia before they were even as much as betrothed. Vanishing the crystal from his palm, he flashed from his chambers in a cascade of glittering light. Jareth appeared inside his _firefly’s_ room and instantly shivered from the sharp chill in the air. What in the name of the Gods had she been thinking, leaving the blasted window open like that?

Sarah was a genuinely incorrigible little thing, and he cast her a fond smile as he crossed to the window and removed the plate of Karen’s loathsome pot-roast from the sill. If she had thought to bait him, she should have at least used something that looked remotely edible.

His sympathies went out to Robert. The man was a complete wanker, but the poor sod was apparently paying for his misdeeds by being slowly poisoned to death by his wife’s piss-poor culinary skills.

Jareth sat the plate of food (if it could be called as such), on the nearby desk. He then turned and shut the window firmly; latching it and drawing the curtains for good measure. Once the window was decidedly secured, he turned and slowly surveyed the room of his future queen.

Regrettably, her chamber was even more unfortunate than he'd first surmised after the small glimpse he’d gotten earlier. Everywhere he looked there was rubbish, and the room’s entirety was bedecked in some truly tragic floral wallpaper. It made his eyes ache just from glancing at it. 

Stacks of worn-looking board game boxes were piled precariously upon a wooden chest, alongside the bed. Silly, unrealistic stories about his kind (all lies, the lot of them) were all lined up atop a shelf; secured by two rather homely bookends.

One of the bookends ironically looked a bit like a particular irritating dwarf he knew. Anything that resembled Hoggle indeed belonged on a rubbish pile!

Daft looking stuffed toys, which again, reminded him of a few creatures from his realm, were scattered here and there. There was even a large display shelf of rather shabby-looking stuffed animals of various types; up against the wall where Sarah’s bed sat. These looked to be particularly worn and significantly more used than the others.

Most of them were practically threadbare and a bit lopsided. Jareth’s discerning gaze settled upon a caramel-colored bear with a red bow about its neck. That one seemed to be in much better shape than the others; as if Sarah favored it, thus kept it in better condition. With a nod of acknowledgment at that little tidbit of information, Jareth continued his silent appraisal of his surroundings. 

Paltry bits of cheap costume jewelry were strewn about, as well as puzzle sets and wooden toys that looked to be for a child much younger. The whole chamber was entirely unfit for a soon-to-be Fae queen! Jareth poked a tacky, plastic mockery of a gold crown, where it sat atop Sarah’s vanity table.

Soon, he mused, he would give her the real version of this pale imitation. Soon, he would possess one of the most powerful beings he’d ever encountered, and when he’d mastered the sway her inner-light had upon him and had learned to use it to his full advantage, the rest of Faerie would bow their heads in respect.

Not to mention, he would have the loveliest of wives at his side. He’d be the envy of all the Underground, and there were very few things Jareth adored more than being envied. The luminous creature peacefully slumbering on the bed, however, had quickly come to be amongst those very few things.

“Sleep well, precious thing,” Jareth whispered, as he came to stand by Sarah’s bed and felt an immediate and fierce urge to bend down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Jareth forced himself to ignore the impulse, knowing it would be foolish to risk waking her and even more foolish to recreate the frightening ordeal from earlier. Once was quite enough for one night. Soon. Soon he’d learn the secret of enduring her overwhelming touch and controlling the sensations it welled within him.

Sarah was quite a force to be reckoned with, but Jareth had learned quite a while back; that pretty much every force could somehow be harnessed and controlled. With one last wistful glance at his sleeping _firefly_ , he vanished from her room and returned to his chambers. 

Back at the Goblin Castle, Jareth readied himself for bed, shucking his coat, gloves, boots, poet’s shirt and breeches. He climbed beneath his silken coverlet, with only his ever-present amulet against his skin. With a lingering sigh, he let his head fall back to the waiting pile of down pillows.

The Goblin King felt it then, the creeping melancholy that always seemed to come right on the heels of separating from Sarah. However, it was nothing compared to what he had felt earlier after Sarah had touched him. This feeling of hollow moroseness was utterly manageable compared to the mind-splitting madness of before.

He resolved to go through the family archives in the morning and dig up whatever he could find on _fireflies_. He’d been told, in the past, that more than a few of his ancestors had had dealings with them. So there was bound to be at least some scrap of useful information somewhere in the dusty old tombs of his family records. 

Just before he let his eyes drift closed, he recalled Sarah’s room and her lined-up volumes of fairytales.

_That’s it…that is how I’ll get her to come to me. A book, a fairytale. No, better yet…a play…_

With a smile playing upon his lips, the Goblin King drifted off to sleep and dreamed of a raven-haired beauty who was stronger than any storm, wilder than the wind and far lovelier than the very stars themselves. 

Over the following couple of months, Jareth worked tirelessly on his play for Sarah. It, of course, was a fairytale, like the stories she seemed so very fond of. Unlike the volumes in her room that contained lies, myths, and hearsay, this tale would have a firm root in reality, at least the majority of it would anyway.

In his play, the brave girl triumphed over the _“wicked”_ king of the goblins, because Jareth knew his Sarah would be drawn to such a tenacious and unyielding character; like an entranced moth to a calling flame.

With the play fresh in her mind, Sarah would be inspired to play his little game, thinking that just like the heroine, she’d win her run of the Labyrinth. She wouldn’t though. Jareth resolved that he would make sure of it.

He would use every single underhanded trick in his arsenal to ensure that when the usual thirteen hours were up; Sarah would belong to the Underground. She would belong to him. 

The birth of the baby, Tobias (or Toby as his parents liked to call him) had been an unexpected boon of inspiration for Jareth. Before the child, his play had lacked an anchor. The baby would be true motivation for the young heroine to venture into the Underground and try her luck at the vast and dangerous Labyrinth. Toby was the perfect bait for the Goblin King’s waiting hook.

Sarah pretended to loathe her new brother and complained about him every chance she got. However, nothing passed by the Jareth’s keen and ever-watchful gaze. He knew Sarah was quite fond of her little brother, despite the petulant act she was always so quick to put on for others. 

Watching in his crystals late at night, had revealed to him that his _firefly_ often liked to sneak into young Tobias’ nursery, just to watch him sleep or hum him lullabies. It seemed to Jareth that the only real things Sarah disliked about the baby, were the facts that young Tobias took up the remainder of what little attention Robert had allotted her and that she was often expected to care for Toby when she’d had other plans.

Other than that, she seemed to adore the little chap secretly. She merely used him as a form of excuse for her rebellion and tantrums. Indeed, the person Sarah appeared to have the most genuine issue with, even more so than Karen, was, in fact, her own emotionally stunted father.

Jareth couldn’t rightly blame the girl. Robert, the lousy blighter, really was only a marginally better parent than the elusive Linda, Sarah’s absentee mother, who scarcely even saw her daughter at all.

Yes, Tobias was merely a cover and sort of outlet for Sarah’s anger and sense of helplessness. Jareth knew with absolute certainty, that when the time came for him to take the baby, she would follow. However, he couldn’t take the child without being wished to, as per the ancient laws of his kind.

He **could** however, influence Sarah to do so. Within his play, Jareth made certain to include the exact words with which mortals had used to summon him, or his ancestors before him, back in the days of old; when the people aboveground still believed in the Fair Folk.

_“I wish the goblins would come and take you away, right now.”_

It wasn’t exactly poetry, but it always did the trick. The heroine of his masterpiece would conveniently also have a baby brother, who her cruel stepmother would continuously force her to take care of, instead of letting the heroine alone to dance, sing and do as she pleased.

Yes, it was shameless pandering on Jareth’s part, but one did what one must. He knew that the relatability of the play would enthrall his Sarah. Her bitterness would push her, and then Jareth **would** have his queen. 

Jareth finished his magnum opus just in time to gift Sarah with it for Yuletide, or _Christmas_ , as the humans now called it. He wrapped the slender red, hardbound volume in plain, brown paper and tied it with twine. A small sprig of holly and a card that simply stated, _“For Sarah”_ in a gold-embossed script, were its only adornments.

He left the small parcel in the Williams’ mailbox; allowing Sarah and her parents to believe it merely a _Secret Santa_ gift from some fond neighbor or friend. Of course, upon receiving his little gift, Sarah reacted just as Jareth had known she would. She completely devoured the volume and in short, order, became utterly obsessed.

All of her free time quickly became devoted to memorizing and acting out every single line he had written out for her. She even spent a couple of months saving up her meager allowance and the payment she received from her neighborhood dog walking services, on a renaissance era costume; just like the heroine in the play was described as wearing.

As soon as the pleasant weather of spring came about, it became a routine for Sarah to don the pretty, cream-colored dress every day (after school) and head to the park to practice her lines. She would stroll to the park in costume; utterly unhindered by the curious stares of the townsfolk that followed her, as she went along her merry way with the small, red book, clutched tightly in her hand.

It was in the park that Jareth usually joined her. In owl form, he would perch nearby, wherever she had decided to practice that day. His Sarah would always spot him straightaway and pause her practice, her lovely face alighting in a smile nearly as brilliant as her golden glow.

She’d then greet him with a, _“Hey there, Mr. Owl!”_ and wander over to run a gentle hand over his feathers. Long since had she ceased trying to find his supposed _owner_ and Jareth suspected that no small part of that had been due to her wanting to keep him for her own. The concept made him positively smug with satisfaction. 

Over the passing months Jareth had gotten quite accustomed to the touch of his little _firefly_. Not only was he now use to her fond caresses of greeting, but he utterly reveled in them. The surge of power that always shot through Jareth’s veins upon contact with Sarah, was now much less jarring.

It was no longer anything like being electrically shocked, time and continued exposure had seemed to wear away the initial sting; just as the writings he had unearthed in the family archives had said it would. However, the compelling sensation that he could conquer worlds, scale mountains and pull down the moon with just his bare hands, never faded in the least.

Sarah’s touch was like harnessing lightning in a bottle, and whenever its heady energy coursed through him, Jareth found himself capable of reaching new and startling heights of magical capability.

About a month after Sarah had received his gift of the book, she’d hung a glossy poster-print of M. C. Escher’s _Relativity_ , on the wall beside her bed. That night, she had spotted Jareth, in his owl’s guise, lurking in the snow-covered tree outside.

She had gleefully opened her window to him, despite the arctic cold of late January and allowed him to perch upon the sill. She’d wasted no time patting his feathered head and running a hand along his downy back; seemingly utterly oblivious to the charge he experienced every time she made physical contact with him.

Aside from that first touch, Sarah never seemed to feel anything when she put her hands on him. As the mounting feeling of crackling vitality had swept through him that night, Jareth’s gaze had locked upon the newly-hung print of Escher’s work and an idea had flickered to life inside his whirling brain.

As quick as a flash; he’d launched himself from the window and flew out of Sarah’s sight. Once he knew he was no longer within her view, Jareth transported himself back home; positively giddy with inspiration and high on the feeling of raw energy burning flame-bright within him.

Once inside the Goblin Castle, Jareth had shifted to his true form and set to work. He’d always had the ability to create things from his magic. He’d been born with that gift. Most high-born Fae were. However, it had always taken a due amount of concentration and effort.

All additions and improvements to his Labyrinth had always cost him a great deal of energy and warranted at least a bit of recuperation time. The Escher inspired room Jareth had created in his castle that winter's night, however, had flowed as effortlessly from him as water flows over rocks in a riverbed.

All that winter, as Jareth had traipsed the winding corridors and ever-changing staircases; going upside-down, sideways, inside-up and every-which-way, he had mused to himself how he would present the Escher room to his _firefly_ , as a wedding gift.

He’d supposed that she would delight in its strange beauty and would have a marvelous time of exploring all of its twists and turns. After all, what other brides could boast that their grooms had gifted them with a real-life, functioning replica of their favorite piece of art?

As the harsh winds of winter dulled to the gentle breezes of spring, Jareth had known that he and Sarah’s time was fast approaching. Every day that passed had seen Sarah more and more consumed by the enticing world he’d promised her within the pages of his play. 

When she wasn’t traipsing about the park in her renaissance maiden’s dress, she was murmuring the lines to herself as she tried to study for exams, tidy up her room, brush her hair at her vanity and sometimes, even in her sleep. Sarah was as good as his. He'd been certain of it. 

On a seemingly ordinary evening in late May, an unexpected storm rolled in from nowhere. In his owl form, Jareth looked up at the churning, grey maw of the tumultuous sky. He’d perched himself on a nearby stone pillar in the park, to watch Sarah rehearse once again, for a part she had no inkling she would soon be living.

A tingling sort of twinge echoed throughout Jareth’s entire being. His whole body seemed to all but vibrate with the sensation of being strung too-tight, like the strings of a violin’s bow. There was no mistaking it. The storm was an omen; harbored in on the very tides of change themselves. Jareth knew it deep within the marrow of his bones. 

It was as if Mother Nature herself had taken on the task of announcing that the time had finally come and in a way, Sarah also seemed to sense that something was brewing. The girl seemed just the tiniest bit off that evening. She hadn’t even so much as acknowledged Jareth when he’d landed, and her whole demeanor gave off the air of being overly distracted.

He wondered if she could smell it as well. Something lingered in the air; not entirely hidden within the fresh scent of impending rain. It was ripe with promise and smelled almost like sugary, summer fruit, like peaches ripening on a tree, even though nothing of the sort grew nearby. Even the very wind almost seemed to whisper a scarcely audible chant of;

_It’s time…it’s time…it’s finally time…_

Thunder clapped overhead as if to affirm those imagined words and Jareth’s small, feathered frame instinctively shivered with anticipation. Wrapped up inside his pulse-pounding thoughts of soon-to-be victory, he nearly missed Sarah’s botched recital of the ending lines of his play.

“For my will is as strong as yours…my kingdom as great…Damn, I can never remember that line,” she muttered in irritation and snatched the red book from where it nestled, tucked within the billowing sleeve of her costume. “You have no power over me,” Sarah sighed as she read the line directly from the book itself.

Thunder rumbled above once again, its hollow churning sounding almost hungry and wanting to Jareth’s keen ears. After a brief glance upward, he turned his attention once more fully to Sarah and the line she was struggling to recall.

Jareth mused that if he were capable of a good, hearty chuckle in his current form, he would have thrown his head back and done so, at the genuinely ironically amusing conversation the girl was having with herself.

His Sarah had memorized every single line of his play; every syllable etched into her brain, every word locked upon her pretty, pink tongue. All except the very last line; the line that freed the heroine from the King’s machinations once and for all. The line that his _firefly_ would never use. 

_No power over you indeed, precious…no power indeed._  
Jareth thought, with an inward smirk. 

Sarah would be his long before that part of the play ever got a chance to be mirrored in reality, Jareth told himself. The line had only even been put in to emphasize the heroine’s strength further and to up Sarah’s desire to emulate the character.

Jareth eagerly chose to see the fact that that particular line was the **only** line that stubbornly refused to congeal within Sarah’s memory, as a sign of guaranteed success.

From his seat on a nearby stone bench, the girl’s mongrel companion began barking incessantly; as if to warn his mistress of the oncoming deluge simmering within the clouds overhead.

“Oh Merlin…” Sarah sighed at the beast, slight frustration coloring her tone. 

In the distance, the clock tower chimed, and Sarah’s gaze snapped to the break in the tree-line, where the tower was most visible from their current spot. 

“Oh no, Merlin! I don’t believe it!” Sarah cried, her voice becoming almost shrill with panic; “It’s seven O’clock! Come on, come on!”

With that, she and the shaggy beast took off running across the small stone bridge and out of the park. Jareth remained where he was perched for a moment longer; silently watching her hurried departure, with no small amount of satisfaction. 

_Yes. Do hurry home, precious. You wouldn’t want to be late._

He flew to the Williams’ home with the lazy, confident stride of a victor. Jareth chose to travel by wing instead of teleportation, despite the now vicious downpour. He wanted to savor this; the almost dizzying high of his inevitable triumph; the decadent satisfaction of everything finally falling into place.

He didn’t even mind the harsh, wet slap of rain droplets against his feathers. What was there to mind? It was finally going to happen. Tonight she was finally going to say the words.

* * *

_And say them she did…then everything went to bloody, buggering hell!_  
Jareth thought bitterly. 

The genuinely insufferable racket Hoggle was making, as the clumsy little oaf continued to bumble his way through tidying the royal chamber, succeeded in dragging Jareth back to the present; like one would drag a heavy sleeper from their bed. The Goblin King blinked away the unwanted images from his traitorous mind and scrubbed an unsteady hand down his face. Gods, why did his face feel alarmingly greasy?

How long had it been since he had last bathed? Why was he still letting that venomous little chit do this to him? It had been months, bloody sodding **months** since she’d left him behind; like a discarded toy with which she no longer wished to play.

He still couldn’t manage to piece himself together. Damn her eyes! Those bewitching jade eyes that had once seemed to promise him all that he could ever want and more…

Jareth let out a small hiss from in-between his clenched teeth. He fervently wished that there was something much stronger for unwanted memories than that blasted thistle wine; which was pretty much entirely useless.

Gods! How the pain from just those cursedly lingering memories felt all but physical! If he could somehow cut Sarah Williams directly from his brain, like a cancerous growth, he would.

Hell, If Jareth thought one of those damned peaches would work for longer than a few fleeting moments, he’d even stoop as low as to devour one himself; without so much as a breath between bites. However, his vicious little raven-haired ingrate had already proven that particular trick to be completely unworthy of even the magic it had taken to conjure it.

Jareth still couldn’t quite comprehend why it had all gone so horrifyingly awry. He was a child of Faerie, the wielder of unfathomable power. He was capable of turning his world upside-down and reordering time, with just the crook of his little finger. Sarah was but a mere mortal! Nothing but an insignificant slip of a girl, _Firefly_ or no, she shouldn’t have been able to crush him as she did. Yet, hadn’t he given her that very power himself?

_“But what no one knew, is that the king of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl…”_

Love…what a genuinely destructive emotion. No weapon forged by Fae, man, or any other, could ever be as formidable. He now bloody well knew that he had no power over Sarah, but she certainly had it over him…and like a fool of tragically epic proportions, he had delivered said power right into her horrid little hands.

If only he had kept his wits about him; had removed his damned heart entirely from the equation. Then everything would have turned out so very differently, of that he was confident. For centuries Jareth had skillfully managed to avoid feeling much of anything.

Then along came a feral woman-child; with a golden glow hanging about her, like a luminous mantel, with a tongue as sharp as any sword…and…she had completely **ruined** him! 

Sarah had all but danced on the ashes of his once imagined victory; laughing and celebrating her triumph with his very own subjects! If that didn’t truly add insult to injury, Jareth didn’t know what did! The little blighters, who had once dared to call themselves his loyal servants, had merrily walked right up to the gateway mirror and had taken full, outrageous advantage of its unguarded state.

The gateway’s momentary lack of protection had been one of the many side-effects of the unimaginable chaos his defeat had plunged the castle into. All of his goblins had scattered every which-way; like frenzied ants scuttling from the wreckage of a ruined anthill. The unthinkable had happened.

Their king had lost. So apparently the brainless lot of them had decided that his defeat equated running around in a blind panic; all of them screaming as if their flea-bitten heads had been chopped off. Utterly useless, all of them.

So just like that, as jolly as they pleased; the dwarf, the hulking beast, and the yammering fox, had all slipped inside the mirror, to congratulate **her**. Jareth had watched the entire brazen display of blatant treason, from where he sat, crouched in the tree outside Sarah’s window; momentarily stuck in his owl form.

Tried as he might at that moment, Jareth couldn’t quite bring himself to care about their disregard for his rules on the use of the gateway. It was over. He had lost her. The glorious future he had dared to imagine for himself and the girl, had slipped right between his grasping fingers, like mere gains of sand.

What did he care if the fools celebrated? They could drown in the depths of the bog for all he cared, even Sarah. **Especially** Sarah! She was dead to him, he’d resolved. As far as he was concerned, Jareth had told himself, Sarah Williams didn’t even exist.

However, despite his then internal insistence that Sarah was no longer relevant, he'd found himself still perching there, unable to leave the branches of the all too familiar oak. From his lonely perch, he had numbly watched her through the barrier of her window.

She’d flitted about her absurd little room, cheering with her absurd friends; as if she hadn’t a single care in the entire universe and he’d supposed she truly hadn’t one. After all, it had been **his** world that had fallen down.

With a pained grimace, Jareth recalled how he’d taken a better look through the window that night and how he had let out a startled, hissing breath through his parted beak when he’d spotted several goblins from his castle amongst the insipid merrymaking.

They’d also slipped in through the mirror; no doubt lured by the sounds of a party echoing from the unguarded gateway. His first impulse had been to rage; to bog all the traitors repeatedly, then let them rot in their own sodden filth within the black belly of an oubliette.

However, with a steadying inhalation; Jareth had reminded himself that it didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that bore any value to him had been cruelly ripped away. That had been the irreversible outcome. That had been the end. Even Goblin Kings had their limits on the reordering of time. There had been no turning back.

So Jareth had told himself that he would allow the pithy dullards to have their fun. However, he had made sure that they would never again get such an opportunity. He’d doubled the guard on the gateway the following morning and reinforced the entire portrait room with warding spells.

He'd promised himself that never again would a denizen of his realm so much as stick a bony finger through that mirror without his say-so. Sarah could enjoy the company of her so-called friends just the once, he'd mused. She'd never see them again, he'd assured himself; taking a tiny measure of bitter comfort in the small, petty gesture. He’d retained that small measure of power over her at least.

Once more, the irksome Hoggle’s blasted rummaging pulled Jareth from his brooding thoughts of the past. The Goblin King trained narrowed, bleary eyes upon the duplicitous little worm. Oh, how he tired of the dwarf’s loathsome company.

Hoggle was nothing but a warty, knobby-kneed reminder of how he'd been viciously cheated from his due. Unlimited power, a beautiful queen to brighten his days and bare him strong sons; it had all been within his eager grasp!

Then that insufferable little cretin had stuck his bulbous nose where it hadn’t belonged. Now Jareth was reduced to **this** ; left to rot in a joke of an existence; if one could even call what he was doing existing. He should have had the Cleaners mow the whole lot of them down; the dwarf, the fox, even the simple beast!

The Underground would have been better off with three fewer traitors traipsing about. Damn it all; he hadn’t been able to do it. Something in the back of his mind had whispered that if he did, Sarah would never forgive him. Why he even remained mindful of what that wretched girl would want or forgive him of, he hadn’t a clue and for the millionth time within the passing few months, Jareth cursed himself a fool.

So instead of having Sarah’s friends bogged, hanged or worse, Jareth had given them all positions amongst his royal court. After all, didn’t the mortal saying go; _keep your friends close and your enemies closer?_ Something in the back of his mind had nagged at him not to dismiss the three turncoats.

Even after the cruel crush of defeat, some insightful grain inside Jareth had whispered that Sarah’s companions could prove useful still. Besides, his impulse to keep Hoggle securely under his thumb had already proven to be tremendously satisfying, as far as entertainment went anyway.

If Jareth had to suffer, broken and alone, the Goblin King reasoned that he would, in the very least, have the pleasure of knowing the catalyst of his misery was suffering right along with him. No, the cleaners would have been much too quick. It was an entirely more fitting punishment. 

Jareth grinned evilly, as he watched Hoggle get down on his hands and knees and attempt to clean up the soiled remains of Jareth’s dinner from a few nights previous. The dwarf’s lips curled in evident disgust, as he futilely tried to gather up the rotting food with nothing but a thin, tattered cloth; the only cleaning implements Jareth ever allotted him.

The Goblin King didn’t even bother suppressing the delighted chuckle that issued from his lips at the sight. He’d taken to the practice of purposely dumping (at least one of his meals) on the floor each day. He then refused to let the dwarf clean it until it had grown a lovely patina of fungus and gave off a vomit-inducing odor; just for the petty pleasure of watching Hoggle attempt to dispose of it.

The eye-watering stench was well worth the daily show the dwarf provided him. When one found themselves mired in an ongoing state of utter wretchedness, one had to take the simple joys wherever they could find them.

Out of pure force of habit, Jareth reached towards his bedside table and grasped for his goblet; intending to refill it and down another few mouthfuls of numbing thistle wine, while he watched Hoggle work. When his clutching hand closed around nothing but air, Jareth recalled throwing the glass against the stone wall a few moments before and nearly conjured himself another. No, he’d make the dwarf fetch it instead. What good was having a slave if you couldn’t order them about?

However, the Goblin King found himself closing his parted lips, the command halting upon his sour-tasting tongue. He paused for a moment and for the first time since Sarah had departed his realm, he allowed himself to truly wonder just what in the bloody hell he was doing.

He’d lost control. Not just of the girl, but of himself. Over the centuries he had allowed himself to drink up the self-perpetuated lie that he was unbeatable; that no mere mortal could ever best him and then, one had. He now hadn’t the slightest clue as how to handle his tumultuous feelings of inadequacy and failure.

Not only that, but he now had to live with the disturbing fact that he had **given** her the cursed book and had even composed the very words of his destruction! However, Jareth realized with sudden breath-stealing clarity; he stood on a precipice of a decision. He could continue to drown in a sea of roiling, bitter remorse, or he could choose to end his pathetic floundering and do something about it all.

Yes, he had been a colossal fool to underestimate the fair Sarah, but perhaps, Jareth thought, with the faint stirrings of resolve beginning to stretch and twitch timidly within him, it wasn’t too late to right previous wrongs. He was somewhat overdue for a rematch and kings did **not** concede.

Sarah had won a battle, but he would win the war. Jareth would have his _firefly_ queen and this time, when he had her just where he wanted her, **she** would be the one to beg. Of that, he would make sure.

With his sudden sense of purpose burning brightly within him, the Goblin King snatched up the decanter of thistle wine and hurled it too, against the wall. Its gleaming shards joined that of the ruined goblet and Jareth watched the milky, green bile of the wine slosh uselessly against the stone with a sort of feverish resolve.

Hoggle looked up from his task, shooting Jareth an uneasy look of question. 

“Oh Hoghead,” the Goblin King singsonged, “I believe it is due time I had a bath. See that you have one drawn for me. Also, go and fetch the maids. This chamber has become unfit to house even pigs.”

Yes, he could very well just use his powers to tidy-up his surroundings, but where was the fun in that?

The little idiot only sat there, blinking at him as if Jareth had just sprouted horns from atop his matted head.

“Well… **go**!” the Goblin King huffed, and that seemed to be the verbal bucket of ice water Hoggle needed.

“Errmm…yes. Yes, your Majesty! Ri-right away!” the Dwarf stammered and jumped to his feet, nearly tripping in the process. 

“Oh and Higgle,” Jareth added, forcing his tone to go bored and almost uninterested; “Would you care to see your beloved champion, _Sarah_ , again?”

At this unexpected inquiry, Hoggle visibly flinched, and his homely face became as pale as death itself.

“Wh-what do ya mean, sire?” the dwarf wrung his visibly shaking hands.

Hoggle knew that the question signified the beginning of trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t such a little dimwit, after all, Jareth mused.

“I meant exactly what I asked, Haberdash. Would you like to see Sarah again? It has been some time, has it not?” Jareth queried, with an almost coy lilt and tilted his head in mock concern.

For a moment all Hoggle could do was splutter uselessly. Jareth only watched with growing amusement, until the dwarf finally found his voice.

“Uh…yeah…it’s been a bit…I ‘spose…” he quavered.

Jareth couldn’t quite manage to hold back the cruel grin, which began to twist at the corners of his mouth.

“So, do you **suppose** we remedy that?” Jareth’s voice was practically a purr of satisfaction.

“I…uh…guess so…” Hoggle’s legs were now trembling, and his voice cracked on the last word he uttered.

“Well then Hubbert, I have a little errand for you to run,” the Goblin King drawled and made his way, still as nude as the day he was born, to the cluttered writing desk in the corner.

“A-an er-errand, your majesty?” Hoggle squeaked, and Jareth was amazed his scrawny little legs hadn’t yet given out from under him. 

“Oh yes, a very important errand,” Jareth seated himself on the stool before his desk and took out a sheet of parchment, as well as the royal seal, with a rather exaggerated flourish of his hand. “You are to deliver Ms. Williams a notification,” Jareth informed him and snatched up a quill that had been lying on the desk.

“A…no-notification? Of wh-what, yer highness?” Hoggle rasped.

Jareth grinned all the wider. The dwarf’s evident distress was genuinely delicious.

“Oh, nothing all that interesting. Just a royal summons. A summons she is to respond to no later than tomorrow afternoon or…shall we say, things of a particularly unpleasant nature shall start happening to certain individuals she might still have an interest in,” Jareth replied airily, as he dipped the quill into the waiting inkwell. 

From behind him, Hoggle only made a series of muffled gasps.

“Why, is something the matter Hogwart? You wouldn’t be abject to my little errand, now would you?” Jareth shot him an almost predatory leer from over his shoulder; the unsettling expression a clear warning of the vicious delight he would take in punishing Hoggle if the dwarf were to refuse him.

When Hoggle’s only response was to shake his head _no_ so fiercely, that he looked to be in danger of giving himself whiplash; Jareth continued. “Oh and have a messenger dispatched out to the Wildlands immediately. I need that tiresome fox back here, at the castle by tomorrow. I think Sarah seeing you all together would work in my favor, for this particular meeting,” Jareth muttered, brow creased in thought, as he began to scrawl out his missive.

“…Y-yes yer majesty. I’ll send a messenger, then come back here and sees about drawin’ yer bath. I’ll have the maids come in after that. Th-the-then…” Hoggle trailed off, his voice hitching as if he were actively trying to keep from hyperventilating.

_How splendid._

” **Then** , you’ll take this missive, which should be done shortly, through the gateway and deliver it directly into the hands of one Ms. Sarah Williams,” Jareth gave a faux sigh of concern. “You really should be more excited, Hargle. I’m sure she’ll be practically ecstatic to see you.”

The dwarf let out a distressed sort of groan from deep within his throat. If ever there were a more irksome sound, Jareth had yet to hear it.

“Is there something more you would like to say, Hoghead? I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that you are less than enthused about the task I’ve set for you.”

“I…uh…well….y-you see…it’s just that…you aren’t going to hurt the little lady, are ya, Your Majesty? Cause as I told ya before, I won’t do nothin’ to harm her,” Hoggle gulped loudly; looking as if he might bolt from the room at any second.

“Hurt her? Why would I ever hurt my future queen? Higgert, you wound me with your callous accusations,” Jareth looked up from his writing, just long enough to cast the dwarf an overly exaggerated portrayal of a hurt glance. “I assure you, no harm will come to the girl. I merely wish to discuss a few things with her.”

“Wait…f-future qu-queen, sire? I errr…th-thought you had um…given up on that,” Hoggle’s voice had gone to a threadbare whisper, and Jareth found himself reasonably impressed that the little wretch hadn’t yet pissed himself.

“Oh but you see, Haggle, I have something in common with our little champion,” Jareth drawled, as he continued to write with graceful, looping whirls of his quill; “I too **never** give up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thanks for the comments and Kudos. You guys are awesome :)
> 
> Also a note...  
> This line: _"With a smile playing upon his lips, the Goblin King drifted off to sleep and dreamed of a raven-haired beauty who was stronger than any storm, wilder than the wind and far lovelier than the very stars themselves,"_  
>  was inspired by a lovely meme of Sarah, that I stumbled upon on Pinterest a while back. I couldn't resist referencing it in my fic.  
> Check the meme out [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284654086930/).


	4. Of Sleepless Nights and Strange Portraits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah answers Jareth's summons, but she isn't at all happy about it.

* * *

_Here she is- Wearing her wings made of cloth and cut from the moon. Where is she going? Why so still? What does she mean when she says "Keep your bare feet in the mud?"_  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p.151)_

* * *

Sarah’s hands gripped the paper she held so tightly, it wrinkled and tore under her clenching, white-knuckled fists. She had officially hit Defcon one on the anger charts and was pretty surprised when her vision didn’t tint to crimson because **damn** was she mad enough to see red!

Sarah's eyes drifted over the elegant, swirling script that the baby-stealing bastard had dared to put to paper; for what could have easily been the fiftieth time, in only a five minute period.

_By royal decree of King Jareth, the ruler of the Goblin Realm, you are hereby summoned to report to the Goblin Castle, within the center of the Labyrinth and hold an audience with his Royal Highness. Said audience shall occur by no later than noon tomorrow. Failure to answer this summons may result in punishable actions towards your associates; Hoggle the dwarf, Sir Didymus the Fox and Ludo the rock caller. You would be well advised to keep this appointment._  
_-Jareth, King of the Goblins_

Sarah was thankful she had thought to sit on the edge of her bed before cracking the seal on the laughable excuse for a letter, or her legs just might have given out from underneath her. Nearly six months had gone by, and Jareth hadn’t said a peep; not one owl sighting, no hint whatsoever that he even knew she still existed. Now he was threatening her and using her friends as some kind of leverage, just out of the blue? 

_What in the actual fuck?!_

“S-Sarah…say somethin.’ You’ve been starin’ at that a while now…and yer face is all blotchy and red. Are…ya okay?” Hoggle looked up at her with mingled concern and anxiety swimming in his bright, blue eyes.

 **Okay**?!!! How in the hell could she possibly be okay after **that**??? That tight-pants-wearing jerkwad was daring to threaten her friends if she didn’t answer his call as if she were some lap-dog and he the beckoning master! She had beaten him fair and square! He had no right to demand anything of her!

Sarah glanced down at Hoggle, where he sat at her feet, wringing his hands together and biting his lower lip until it bled just a little. She’d been so happy to see him at first. When her dear friend’s face had suddenly appeared in her vanity mirror, after months of silence, asking if he could come through and talk to her; Sarah had let out of shout of excitement so loud, Karen had called up the stairs to see if she was alright. 

However, Sarah’s joy had quickly withered and died an abrupt, cruel death, when Hoggle appeared in her room, wearing an expression that stated all was not well. After she’d given him a bone-crushing bear-hug, Hoggle had pulled back and timidly handed her the envelope with a red wax seal; it bore a mark identical to the amulet that the rat who called himself a king always wore.

“H-he insisted. I’m sorry…” Hoggle had muttered, and upon hearing those words, Sarah’s stomach had bottomed out, and a choking lump had taken up residence in her throat. 

Sarah had known it would be bad. People didn’t just hand you letters and say _“I’m sorry,”_ because it was good news…yet, somehow (and she didn’t quite know why), Jareth’s sheer audacity had been like a good, hard kick to the face. Why she hadn’t expected something like this before, she wasn’t quite sure. It was Jareth after all. Of course, he was a scheming bag of sleaze, who wasn’t at all above an act of extortion. Why should she be the least bit surprised? 

Yet a part of Sarah, a secret inner part, had foolishly hoped that perhaps the Goblin King had learned his lesson; that maybe, just **maybe** , if he ever came into her life again, it would be different. Why had she ever been so damned stupid as to think he might come to her like some dashing prince in a fairytale; sweeping her off her feet with whispered words of adoration and promises of forever?

Why had she still inwardly hoped that he’d dance with her and sing to her as he had in that strange episode after she’d eaten that freaky peach? 

Sarah knew that the whole thing in the white, shinning ballroom had been fake; an illusion meant to distract her and further Jareth’s twisted agenda. As much as she hated to admit it, ever since that night, a traitorous little part of her refused to let go of that glimmering fantasy.

She had tried to put it away, just as she had her old music box and the little, red book, but unfortunately, fantasies and dreams can’t be so easily stuffed into drawers or locked away with a key.

How many times, since she had left his strange world, had she thought of Jareth in that glittering blue jacket; gliding her around the dancefloor, a look of almost worshipful reverence on his handsome face? How many times had she guiltily fantasized that he had pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers, instead of what had occurred?

She was a total idiot! The whole display in the ballroom, the song, the dress, the way he had looked at her. Sarah realized now; it had all been his way of making fun of her. Jareth had mocked her childish fantasies of being a princess and dancing with a handsome prince. He didn’t want her, except in the capacity of control, and no matter how she might pretend it didn’t, that knowledge cut her deep.

_“But I’ll be there for you…as the world falls down…”_  
_Gah! Yeah, right!_

It was all some weird power-game to him and now that Jareth had had more than enough time to lick his wounds; Sarah supposed he was chomping at the bit for a rematch. She hadn’t the faintest clue why he’d ever even taken an interest in her and Toby.

When she had first discovered that Jareth was, in fact, her tagalong owl and that he’d been stalking her for months in a feathered disguise, she had been genuinely baffled. Why her? She was just ordinary. He was a freaking Goblin King! Why would he even care about her or her brother? 

“Look, I understands if ya don’t wanna’ go. I’m old...the others is too. We’ve lived our lives. It don’t matter what he does to us. It’s best ya stay away,” Hoggle murmured startling Sarah from her gloomy thoughts.

“Absolutely not! You’re my friend, and I care about you. Why would I just abandon you, Didymus and Ludo, to deal with that jerk on your own?!” Sarah cried and balled Jareth’s stupid, condescending, third-person letter, in her hands; with more than enough necessary force. 

Oh how she wished the paper were Jareth’s snide, leering face!

“I’m going, and I’m gonna tell that prick off once and for all! If he thinks he’s going to keep toying with me, just for kicks, he is so very, **very** wrong. I won, he lost. End of story. He’s not going to keep messing with me. It’s just not happening,” Sarah fumed and chucked the wadded paper in her hand towards the general direction of her wastebasket; missing her mark miserably. 

“Sarah, I don’t think…” Hoggle ventured.

“I’m gonna show that rat who’s boss! Tell him I’m coming. School is out for Christmas break, so I’ll be there. Oh, but if he thinks I’m going to flutter my eyelashes at him and giggle like some stupid, infatuated Goblin King groupie, he’s got another think coming!” Sarah jumped to her feet and stormed over to her vanity mirror; bracing her hands flat on the adjoining tabletop so that she could lean closer to the mirror’s reflective surface. 

“Do you hear me, you scheming bastard? Are you watching? I’m coming, but you better not even think about laying a smarmy hand on any of my friends! And you leave Toby out of this. This is between you and me. You ever come near him again, and so help me, I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell!”

At those words, the sound of mirthless, almost manic, laughter echoed hollowly throughout the room. Sarah couldn’t help but jump, despite her best efforts to appear fierce and unshakable. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite keep her hands from trembling just the tiniest bit.

“I know that laugh…” Sarah muttered more to herself than to her companion, and she honestly hated how small and frightened her voice suddenly sounded to her own ears.

“Well, it appears he heard ya…” Hoggle gulped, “You always did know how to get his attention.”  


* * *

It had been an incredibly long night. By the time dawn gingerly spread itself across the morning sky, Sarah grimly realized she hadn’t slept a single wink. The unsightly evidence resided beneath her bloodshot eyes; in the form of puffy bags that she could plainly feel, as she scrubbed a weary hand across her face.

For the better part of the night, Sarah had uselessly tossed and turned. After a while, she'd given up all hope of sleep entirely, in favor of pacing in front of her window. While she'd practically paced a groove into her floor, her attention had often drifted out into the foreboding darkness, on the other side of the glass. Her wary gaze had vigilantly scanned for the bright flash of owl eyes from within the branches of the oak, or a fleeting glimpse of a pale, feathered wing. She hadn’t seen a thing. 

Jareth hadn’t made any sort of appearance other than that creepy, disembodied laughter. Just that one incident had been enough to keep Sarah up all night. She'd been restlessly anxious over the possibility of a sudden Goblin King appearance. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt an unsettling twinge of disappointment when he never showed.

_After all the shit he put you through, you still want him to come and play prince charming to your princess? Gah! Grow up Sarah and stop being so damn lame!_

She scolded herself, as she stubbornly lay back in bed, hoping against hope, that maybe she’d finally pass out for a few blessed hours. There was still time, if only she could shut off her stupid, noisy mind for a bit and **just** fall asleep…

_Besides, Jareth is no prince. He’s a villain. In no story does the princess ever marry the villain and live happily-ever-after._

So much for her chatty brain being in any compliance! Sarah turned on her side and let out a low, tortured groan into the teasing softness of her dinosaur pillow.

Around _8:45 am_ Karen poked her head into the room and announced that she was taking Toby to get his picture taken with Santa, at the mall, and that breakfast was on the table. Sarah sighed and finally admitted defeat at the hands of the merciless monster that was insomnia, by getting up and trudging down the hall to shower.

Twenty minutes later and all squeaky clean; she wrapped a fluffy, _Pepto-Bismol_ -pink towel around herself and set about the joyless task of getting ready for the day.

_Really, Williams? You were up all night thinking about him! Not a single wink of sleep! Way to not let Jareth muck-up your head-space. Good job._

Sarah shot herself a dirty look in the bathroom mirror, as she finished brushing her teeth and spat forcefully into the sink. She had turned sixteen that past August. Everyone around her age acted as if sixteen were some magical number that somehow made you so much more adult and so much wiser.

As if the act of crossing your birthday off on your calendar suddenly gifted you with instant enlightenment. Ha! If only! Sarah certainly didn’t feel any wiser. Even after all that she had been through; after nearly losing her baby brother for good, she **still** thought of a certain pair of mismatched eyes and her stomach did a weird little flutter. Nope, she wasn’t any wiser at all, she lamented with a pained sigh. 

After Sarah finished with her teeth and gave her damp hair a quick blow-dry, she headed back to her room to rifle through her closet. What did one wear to an audience with the Goblin King anyway?

For just a brief instant, she considered slipping on the tight purple party dress, with the puffed, ruched sleeves, which she’d worn to her sweet-sixteen party. She had felt so beautiful in that dress and a small, annoying part of her wanted Jareth to see her in it; for him to find her as attractive as she felt whenever the plum-colored organza touched her skin.

_He’s the enemy. Who cares what he thinks? It’s not like you’re going on a date. You’re going down there to tell him to lay-off of your friends or else!_

Sarah mentally scolded herself and pulled her hovering hand back from the party dress so quickly, it was as if the lovely material had suddenly caught on fire. No, she wasn’t going to get all dressed up and parade around for him like some flirty bimbo.

Besides, it was December, and she would freeze her butt off in such a getup. From what she recalled of Jareth’s world, it reflected the seasons of hers; at least it had seemed that way. So more than likely, it would be cold as hell there too, and Jareth would undoubtedly laugh at her for wearing something so silly. 

_No, I’ll just wear the usual. Just a pair of jeans and a baggy sweater. Why the hell would I even care what he sees me wearing? He’s a manipulative snake. I just need to get over…whatever the hell this is._

Sarah’s hand reached for the hanger furthest back, the hanger that held her old, beat-up Levi’s. They were practically threadbare and were probably only a couple wash-cycles away from giving up the ghost entirely. She usually only wore them when she was cleaning the house, or lazing around on a slow Sunday afternoon. Sarah reminded herself once again that it didn’t matter what she looked like when she went to see Jareth. **He** didn’t matter.

Yet, just before her hand closed around the shabby denim, she found herself grabbing her nicest pair of black wool slacks and her favorite dark-teal turtleneck sweater, instead. She needed to stay warm, and her old Levi’s were too thin; she reasoned and tried not to think about if maybe Jareth might notice the way the color of her sweater vibrantly set off the green of her eyes.

After donning the turtleneck and slacks, Sarah ran a brush through her hair and quickly tied the glossy strands back in a loose, fishtail braid. It was a practical style she told herself. It would keep the hair out of her face, in case she had to make a hasty exit.

It didn’t matter at all that the particular hairstyle made her appear more grown-up, a touch more sophisticated. Who cared about that? She certainly didn’t. It was all about practicality.

_Liar, liar, pants on fire…_

Sarah retrieved a pair of thick socks from her dresser, and after slipping them on, she donned her new black, Italian leather ankle boots. The pretty heeled boots had been an early Christmas present from her mom. Since Linda had never been one to shy away from extravagance, they were from _Saks Fifth Avenue_ , of course.

The leather was buttery soft and the heel the perfect height. Not too tall, not too low. Her mother had presented them to her the previous week, during a fancy dinner at _Delmonico’s_ , in the city. It had been their early Christmas celebration, since Linda was off to St. Bart’s for the holidays, with her latest rich boyfriend/benefactor; who may or may not, be married. 

Sarah rolled her eyes as she thought of her mother. It was getting harder and harder to forgive all the absences, all the excuses and the blatant way Linda always put her last. Even Karen, of all people, had been a better mother as of late…and that was really saying something.

With a mental shrug, Sarah brushed the thought away. It just wasn’t the time to think of such things. She had a meeting with her nemesis to mentally prepare for, after all.

Sarah knew she couldn’t afford to start stressing over her practically nonexistent relationship with her mom, not when she had to deal with a particular king; a king who had a voice that made her brain practically short-circuit and her breath hitch within her throat, every time she heard it. She had to keep her wits about her. There would be plenty of time to think about other things after she had told Jareth the rat off once and for all.

After zipping her boots and standing, Sarah winced when she saw her own pale, Spector-like face staring back at her in the reflection of her vanity mirror; looking like a dead-eyed wraith with her washed-out complexion and dark, telling circles of sleeplessness. She told herself that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how she looked when she stood before him.

He was nothing; nothing at all. An irritating thorn in her side to be removed and forgotten. Nothing more. Then, before she could tell herself even one more blatant lie, she was moving to the small pile of cosmetics on her vanity. 

Sarah briskly applied a smidgen of blush to the apples of her cheeks; just enough to give her face a pleasing touch of color. Next, she applied just a hint of baby-pink shadow to her eyelids and brushed a light coating of mascara on her lashes.

For the finishing touch, she smeared on some of her favorite wine-colored lip-gloss. There, much better. She looked somewhat presentable.

_Not that it matters…_

“Sarah, you there? Are ya ready?” Hoggle’s face suddenly appeared in the mirror, and Sarah’s gaze darted to the clock on her nightstand.

“Yeah, I’m ready…but isn’t it a bit early? I still have nearly two hours,” she frowned.

Sarah supposed she might as well get it over with. So much for grabbing something to eat beforehand. Not that she felt particularly hungry. Her nerves had twisted her stomach into a giant knot of pulsing anxiety, so breakfast was probably out of the question anyway.

“I know…it’s just…errr…His Majesty is a bit impatient this mornin’…” Hoggle mumbled nervously, and Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Of course he is. Everything is always according to his schedule and his rules, even if he makes them up as he goes along,” she muttered and retrieved her charcoal-grey peacoat from her still open closet.

Sarah took her sweet time putting it on and outright dawdled over fastening all the buttons. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she had better leave a note for Karen, just in case her stepmother’s mall-Santa expedition with Toby finished early.

Sarah bit back a maniacal cackle of glee at having yet another reason to stall; just for the pure joy of spiting Jareth in some small measure. She immediately began to move like a woman of eighty-two; gingerly getting a piece of stationery from the drawer of her desk and fumbling for a pen with all the speed of someone who had inexplicably become entrenched in a vat of molasses.

 _Went to Genevieve’s. Be back later._

_-Sarah_

She wrote as slow as humanly possible and even paused in mock thoughtfulness nearly half a dozen times in-between each word, as if she were contemplating exactly how to phrase herself; even though the hasty excuse of her whereabouts required little to no brainpower. 

“Ready?” Hoggle asked once again, nervous impatience leaking into his tone, as Sarah **finally** finished her note.

Poor Hoggle. None of it was his fault. Sarah made a mental note to try her best not to provoke that pompous ass of a Goblin King unnecessarily. Jareth more than deserved every last bit of frustration that she saw fit to dish out, but Hoggle and the others didn’t deserve the backlash that would undoubtedly follow.

Jareth had tirelessly proved that he wasn’t above taking his anger out on innocents, so for the time being, until she could figure out how to make him desist once and for all, she would play nice. No more stalling. She would be good and tuck away her burning inner need to annoy and bait him.

_Just for now…_

“Yeah, just a sec,” she replied and moved to retrieve some tape from the already gaping desk drawer and hastily fixed the note to the outside of her bedroom door.

“Okay, I’m ready. Umm…how do I do this? Do I try and crawl through? You always seem to just appear in the room suddenly, except when you’re like this and just talking to me through the mirror,” Sarah paused in front of her vanity, tilting her head curiously at Hoggle’s image in the glass.

“Just touch the glass, and the magic will do the rest,” Hoggle instructed.

_Well, come on feet._

Sarah tried her best to rally her spirits with her old mantra, but it did little to ease the tension that practically squirmed beneath the barrier of her skin, like a living thing. With a deep breath, she reached out a trembling hand and touched the surface of her mirror.

Sarah had expected the usual cool feel of the glass beneath her palm. Instead, she felt a liquid warmth; akin to sticking her hand into heated bathwater. She let out a slight gasp at the unexpected sensation and nearly yanked her hand back when she saw the surface of the mirror rippling, like a crystalline pond, against her hesitant touch.

“Don’t be afraid. It ain’t gonna’ hurt ya none,” Sarah heard Hoggle trying to soothe her, just as everything in her line of vision became blindingly bright.

It was as if her surroundings were washed in neon and with a sudden flash, all there was, was an all-consuming white light. For the briefest of seconds, Sarah experienced a lurching sensation, and her stomach bottomed out; as if she were standing in an elevator that had come to a sudden, lurching halt.

Just before Sarah's stunned mind could awaken and truly panic, her vision cleared and she saw that she was no longer in her bedroom, but standing in a vast stone-walled room with hundreds of rather imposing-looking portraits staring back at her with flat, discerning eyes.

“See, nothin’ to it.”

Sarah looked down to see Hoggle at her side. The dwarf had a somewhat amused grin spread wide across his wrinkled mouth. She supposed she must look quite a sight, her jaw agape and her eyes undoubtedly as big as dinner plates. When Jareth had transported her to his world six months ago, it had been a lot different than what she had just experienced.

One moment she'd been standing in Toby’s darkened room; squaring off against one of the most beautiful and frightening men she had ever met. The next, she'd felt a slight tilting sensation then had found herself standing with him, on a barren hill in a desolate wasteland; overlooking the sprawling labyrinth.

It had been nearly as simple as blinking an eye. Objectively speaking, Sarah much preferred Jareth’s form of travel. Even if he was a baby-stealing rat; the Goblin King’s method of transport came without the jelly-kneed disorientation she was now experiencing, as she drank in her surroundings with a prolonged, trembling inhalation.

“Wh-where are we?” Sarah whispered, not recognizing the room in which they stood, from her last visit to the Goblin Castle; if a bumbled invasion could be called a visit anyway. 

“We’re in the royal portrait chamber. This is where the gateway mirror is kept,” Hoggle replied, with a slight gesture behind her.

Slowly, Sarah turned to see a startlingly grand floor-to-ceiling, silver-framed mirror. The elaborate frame featured stunning engraved depictions of trees and woodland creatures; deer, foxes and of course, swooping owls. It was so breathtakingly lovely that she longed to run her hands along the intricate metalwork, but was instead distracted by the reflection in the mirror’s glassy surface.

When she peered into it, she didn’t see her reflection or even the room behind her. Instead, she saw her bedroom just as she left it; as if she were looking straight through the transparent glass of a window. 

“Cool…” Sarah murmured in amazement and lifted a timid hand towards the image of her room. 

“Stop! You can’t be touchin’ it till the gateway closes. Else’ you’ll be transported right back, and I don’t wanna’ deal with any more of His Majesty’s impatience,” Hoggle scolded and pulled her away from the mirror with a sharp tug at the hem of her coat.

“Oh, okay,” She nodded absently; a bit dazed as she watched the image of her bedroom fade and shift, to display her own wide-eyed, startled reflection.

“Come along now, we best be gettin’ this over with. Hopefully, he isn’t up to anything too terrible. Oh, who am I kiddin’…” Hoggle grumbled with a pained sigh.

Sarah scarcely heard him; her anxiety giving way to amazed curiosity, as she stood rooted to the spot. She openly gaped at the multitude of stunningly lifelike portraits lining the walls. Each portrait featured at least one stuffy-looking person with otherworldly good-looks and an air of unquestionable importance about them.

Some of the portraits featured couples, others looked to be entire families. All bore distinct aristocratic, aquiline features; instantly reminding Sarah of a certain smug king. 

Just as Jareth sprang to her mind, Sarah’s gaze landed on an unusually large portrait of a striking couple, which seemed to dominate the far wall. Ignoring Hoggle’s insistent tugs on her coat, Sarah found herself crossing the room for a better look.

The regal figures, depicted in rich oils, practically demanded her immediate attention with their commanding expressions and the air of complete authority, which all but wafted from the canvas; like a real element in the crisp air of the chilly, echoing chamber. 

The man was unearthly handsome and bedecked in black leather armor; similar to what Jareth had worn when he’d first appeared to her in man-form, that night in Toby’s room. The portrait man posed proudly, with a familiar wide-shouldered stance, hands upon his hips; in a motionless swagger.

He could easily have been taken for Jareth, except he didn’t have the signature mismatched eyes. His were both the bright, startling blue of a cloudless summer sky. There were also subtle streaks of silver threaded in the portrait man’s long, flaxen hair; whereas Jareth’s was pure, shining gold. 

The portrait man’s cheeks were also fuller, less chiseled than Sarah knew Jareth’s to be and his stocky frame hinted at being somewhat more muscular than Jareth’s sleek, lanky build. Other than these slight differences though, the resemblance was uncanny.

Both the Goblin King and the man in the painting bore the same boastful jaw, the same aristocratic nose, and the same mocking, upward-tilting brows. There wasn’t any doubt as to a relation.

_Jareth’s dad…he has to be._

Standing next to the man, whom Sarah was almost sure to be the father of her nemesis, was a positively stunning woman, who could easily put most supermodels to complete shame.

She wore a rich, sweeping gown of silver brocade and had flowing hair, as black as any raven’s wing. A cunning amber gaze, which seemed to glint with a fierce, crackling intelligence, bore into Sarah’s; right through the artful layers of paint. 

The dark-haired goddess had familiar, sharply-defined cheekbones and a self-satisfied smirk that Sarah would know anywhere because Jareth had worn it so very often during her time in the Labyrinth. The portrait woman’s frame was lithe and sleek; the very depiction of graceful elegance embodied.

One slender arm was tightly hooked through that of her companion’s, her entire body leaning into his as if to broadcast her claim upon him. The pose seemed more possessive than it did affectionate, more haughty than loving. 

Sarah’s eyes dropped to the gold plaque, beneath the portrait’s gilt frame. 

_The Goblin King, ‘Adeen the Wise’ and his queen, Celinette; former princess of the royal Unseelie court._

She was staring right into the painted, two-dimensional faces of Jareth’s parents. She didn't doubt it. Strange, Sarah had never really pictured Jareth having a family. He’d always seemed such a solitary and volatile kind of guy; not at all the family type.

However, she realized that her previous notion had been pretty ridiculous. Everyone had mothers and fathers; apparently even Goblin Kings. After all, Jareth hadn’t just merely _poofed_ into being, within a cloud of glitter, one day. That ludicrous thought had Sarah biting back a giggle, as she continued to study the couple in the painting.

_I wonder where they are now? Do they still live in the castle? Did they go somewhere else?_

She looked into each of their oil-rendered gazes once again and found the faintest of smiles gracing her lips.

 _Blue eyes and light brown…he has one of each…_

“Come on, we gotta’ go. He’s waitin’, Sarah,” Hoggle tried to coax her away with yet another tug at her coat.

“I’m two hours early. He can wait just a damn minute,” Sarah grumbled and allowed her eyes to travel to the other nearby paintings.

Just a few feet down from the portrait of Jareth’s parents, stood another painting that also left her in a slight state of surprise. There was Jareth, painted on a backdrop of what looked to be an orchard of silver trees; bearing perfect, round peaches within their sterling boughs.

Sarah frowned at the memories that the depiction of that particular fruit stirred within her. It had been six months since she’d eaten a peach and she was somewhat doubtful that she’d ever crave her once-favorite fruit again.

As unsettling as seeing Jareth in a peach orchard was, that wasn’t what Sarah found particularly surprising about the painting. Standing next to Jareth, arms crossed in a seemingly irritated fashion, was a tall, dark-haired man who bore features similar to the Goblin King’s; yet darker, more brooding and decidedly almost sinister. Once again, Sarah sought out a plaque.

 _Prince Jareth and Prince Rannon; sons of King Adeen and Queen Celinette._  
The plaque below the frame read.

 _Whoa Nelly! Jareth has a brother?_

Sarah’s head reeled a bit from the new, startling piece of unexpected information. She studied the dark-haired man more intently.

 _Prince Rannon…_

Just like Jareth, he was unearthly beautiful and possessed a mesmerizing mismatched gaze of golden-amber and piercing sky-blue. He also bore the same proud, aquiline nose. That was where the similarities between the two siblings ended though. Where Jareth was all sleek elegance, with just a hint of lean muscle, Rannon was built like a tank; his bulging biceps and pectorals looked to be practically straining against the form-fitting black leather he wore.

He looked like the men who graced the covers of the trashy _bodice-ripper_ books that Karen kept at the back of the bookcase in the den. They were poorly hidden, behind some old books on cake decorating and how to create your own silk flower arrangements, and of **course** Sarah had pawed all through them the first chance she'd gotten.

Sarah felt her cheeks heating as her eyes roved over Rannon’s beautifully sculpted frame in silent admiration, then traveled upwards to his flowing blue/black tresses. While Jareth’s long hair was a tousled, golden disarray; Rannon’s was sleek and glossy, with not a single, perfect strand out of place.

Rannon seemed to have inherited more of his mother’s coloring, but a body type similar to his father’s; whereas Jareth was the opposite. 

_Interesting…_

Sarah bit her bottom lip, as her eyes darted back and forth between the two painted figures. She knew she would be straight-up lying through her teeth if she ever tried to claim that Rannon wasn’t attractive, almost devastatingly so. Yet there was still something about Jareth’s fair looks and artful grace, which made her heart pound and her lips hold back a wistful sigh, every time she saw him.

Apparently even paintings were no exception, Sarah realized with a rueful frown. Somehow her hand had come up of its own volition, to fondly trace the elegant lines of portrait-Jareth’s jaw, lips and hair.

 _What in the hell am I doing?_

Sarah snatched her hand away as if she’d been touching a hot stove, rather than mere dried paint and canvas. 

_“I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want. Just fear me, love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave.”_

Jareth’s words slithered through her memory in an insidious whisper of bitter recollection. 

_Yeah, some kind of love, buddy! It only comes at the price of my free will. That’s not love._

Sarah let out a quiet sigh of frustration, as the same damned questions tumbled restlessly through her brain, each and every time she thought of that last encounter in that weird room that looked eerily like her M.C. Escher poster. 

_Why didn’t you just ask me to come with you to your world?_

_Why were you frightening and cruel, instead of charming? If you had just asked, I would have said yes._

_Why did you bring Toby into it?_

_Was it ever even about me at all?_

_Did you really feel what you all but said you did?_

_It was all just a lie wasn’t it? Just a way to manipulate me…_

_You don’t care about me at all, do you? This is all just a game to you, one you still want to play; one you can’t let go until you win._

“You know the answers to all those questions, dummy,” Sarah whispered angrily to herself, then startled, when she heard Hoggle loudly clear his throat.

She’d all but forgotten her friend was in the room with her! That meant that Hoggle had seen her touching Jareth’s portrait; mooning over his image, like some lovesick twit!

 _Ugh! How embarrassing…_

“Umm…Sarah, we really oughta’ be goin.’ He knows yer here. He’ll come looking for ya if ya dally too long and believe me, you don’t want him doin’ that,” Hoggle warned in a quavering voice.

Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Hoggle might be afraid of the big, bad Goblin King, but **she** wasn’t. She was no coward. Jareth could go kick rocks for all she cared.

“Wait, just a sec. Where are they now? Jareth’s parents and his brother, I mean. I didn’t see them at all the last time I was here,” She inquired, with a forced nonchalance in her strained tone.

_So much for not caring…_

Hoggle paused for a good, long moment. The room was instantly pregnant with tense, secret-laden silence. Sarah watched almost impatiently, as her friend’s eyes darted from the portraits to her, to the floor and back again; in several rotations until the dwarf finally let out a lengthy, laborious sigh. 

“Ain’t my story to tell. Sides,’ we don’t have the time. I knows you are the relentlessly curious sort…but please Sarah, let this go for now. If ya really wanna’ know, ask his Majesty yerself. Although, I **really** wouldn’t recommend it,” Hoggle replied, a plea clear in his cornflower-blue eyes.

“Okay, let’s go then. Let’s go meet with his Royal Pompousness,” Sarah sighed, conceding.

Conceding for the time being, anyway.

Just as Sarah turned away from the portrait of Jareth and his brother, another image of the haughty Goblin King snagged her gaze. In this painting, Jareth was depicted in a blue tailcoat, similar to the one he had been wearing during that not-dream in the ballroom, yet less adorned.

Tight grey breeches and knee-high black leather boots completed the dashing ensemble; a riding crop clutched tight in his fist and his amulet on clear display, resting against the midnight-blue fabric of his jacket. He stood, proud and commanding, in front of the circular gold throne, with its almost shabby-looking, plum-colored draperies.

Sarah remembered seeing the strange throne in person, back when she and her friends had burst into the castle in search of Toby. Even in the midst of her stress-filled ordeal, she had found herself inwardly observing how the throne and its filthy surroundings hadn’t quite fit the immaculate elegance of the king who dwelled there.

She narrowed her eyes at the painting, not at all liking that she thought of Jareth any further than him merely being a danger to herself and Toby. Just then, Sarah realized that the painting wasn’t correctly centered. Jareth was standing too far to the left, a large, empty space at his right. She glanced down at the plaque.

_The Goblin King, ‘Jareth the Cunning’_

Sarah couldn’t help but snort with mirthless laughter at Jareth’s title; it was every bit as smug as the man himself.

_It so figures that he would be called something like that. Probably thought it up himself too!_ Sarah inwardly scoffed. 

It was then she realized that just like the painting, the plaque also had a significant gap to the right; almost as if it were awaiting an addition of some sort. The void in the picture at Jareth’s side also seemed to be reserved for something. Perhaps another figure to be painted in later?

Sarah let her eyes wander across the myriad of other portraits hanging about the room. All the featured figures were painted in groups or pairs; kings with their queens, or royal offspring with their siblings, even some royal families all together. The portrait of Jareth in front of his throne was the only one with a lone subject. 

_The gap…it’s for Jareth’s future queen!_

The sudden realization sent a faint gasp escaping Sarah’s lips; one she dearly hoped was inaudible to her dwarf companion. As weird as it had been to picture Jareth having parents and a brother, it was far stranger imagining him having a queen; a wife.

Without warning, a feeling of jealousy so thick and heavy, it was almost dizzying, settled upon her. Why in the hell did the thought of some ethereally gorgeous woman being painted in, hanging off Jareth’s arm, fill her with a sudden flash of rage? 

Would he look at this future queen the way he had looked at **her** in that ballroom not-dream? Would he sing his future bride songs about painting her mornings of gold and spinning her Valentine evenings, as he had to her? Sarah’s hands involuntarily clenched into fists at her side; her nails biting into the tender flesh of her palm.

_Ugh! Again, none of it was real, you moron! Let it go! Who cares who he marries? If anything, you should feel sorry for the poor woman, having to put up with Jareth’s colossal ego for the rest of her life. Poor thing._

“I thought we was goin’?” Hoggle grumbled from behind her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on,” Sarah replied, a bit on the waspish side; unwanted visions of other women pawing greedily at the Goblin King filling her head, sending fissions of bristling irritation all throughout her being.

_I’m not jealous. I’m not! I’m not jealous…_

Maybe if she thought it enough, it might end up being true; the power of suggestion and all that. 

As they reached the tall, wooden door at the other end of the room, Sarah suddenly realized they hadn’t been alone. Roughly two-dozen guards flanked either side of the exit; armed to the teeth with various swords, axes and even a couple baring crossbows.

Their spiky, red helmets covered the entirety of their faces; crimson leather and metal armor encased the length of their bodies. Not a single sliver of flesh showed, giving them the appearance of statues rather than men, or goblins, or whatever they were.

More startling than the sudden discovery of their presence was the dramatic variations in their height. Some stood no taller than Sarah’s knee; others towered above her head. All bore the motionless stance of steadfast, seasoned warriors. 

“Oh, pay no mind to them. They guard the gateway mirror. You know, to keep the citizens of the Underground from crossin’ through without His Majesty’s permission. Of course, we had permission to use it, so no worries,” Hoggle assured her casually and pulled at the tarnished, silver door handle; shaped like the head of an open-mouthed, leering goblin.

Sarah recalled their conversation the day before. After Hoggle had let her anger at Jareth’s demanding summons cool a bit, he had informed her that he, Sir Didymus and Ludo hadn’t answered any of her calls since the day of Jareth’s defeat, due to the Goblin King swiftly putting a stop to any future visits.

Hoggle had told her about Jareth doubling the guard on the gateway and expressly forbidding their passage to the Aboveground, until further notice. The simmering heat of anger bloomed in Sarah’s cheeks at the thought. It was just like Jareth to be irritatingly petty and ruin anything and everything that he possibly could, just because he hadn’t gotten his way; and he had once dared to imply **she** was a spoiled child! Ha!

“Right this way,” Hoggle motioned ahead to the dim, winding corridor beyond and the back of Sarah’s neck prickled with nerve-laced foreboding.

This was it. She was about to again see the man who had relentlessly haunted both her thoughts and dreams for the past six months. The man who had once offered her anything she could ever want at the rigid price of her freedom. The man who had very nearly succeeded in getting her to agree if she was truly honest with herself.

Oh, how she had been tempted in that last confrontation when he had held out his crystal to her, a plea flashing in his mismatched eyes. It would have been so effortless, to reach out and take it, to surrender and throw herself into Jareth’s arms, and damn the consequences. 

Thankfully Sarah’s sense of duty and loyalty to her brother had overcome. It had drowned out that shadowy, insidious little voice whispering in her ear, telling her that she **deserved** what he offered and more; that no one had cared about her or what she had wanted for the last several years.

So why should she care what happened to anyone else? It had taken every single grain of willpower within her body to deny him, but she had done it. The burning question remained; could she do it again? 

Goosebumps pricked all along Sarah’s arms as she followed Hoggle out into the shadowy hall. The musty smell of damp and the faint tang of mildew assaulted her nose, as a cold draft blew past. Sarah shivered and wrapped her arms snugly around her middle; suddenly grateful she had thought to wear a coat.

Yet she couldn’t help but notice Hoggle’s lack of warm clothing. The powder-blue, lace-trimmed tunic and lilac, satin pantaloons looked to have been selected more for Hoggle’s embarrassment, rather than seasonal comfort. 

_Typical Goblin King, always so damn petty._

“Hey Hoggle, you want my coat? It’ll be a bit big, but at least it’ll keep the chill off. I can’t imagine that getup is very warm. At least I’m wearing a sweater under this,”Sarah's hands were already at her buttons, ready to offer up the warm garment to her friend.

“Errrmm…no thanks. I’ll hafta’ pass,” Hoggle replied, but Sarah noted the tiny hint of longing residing within his tone.

“You sure?” She persisted.

“…Yes. Quite sure,” the wistful touch in Hoggle’s sigh, also did not go undetected to Sarah’s ears.  


Righteous anger began to burn a fiery blaze within her gut. Her friend was obviously only refusing her offer of the coat because he feared punishment from his king. It just further confirmed Sarah’s suspicion of Hoggle’s poor treatment during the past months, even though Hoggle wouldn’t come outright and say it.

Sarah bit her bottom lip so hard, she was genuinely surprised when she didn’t taste the metallic tang of blood coating her tongue. She was going to make sure that Jareth stopped his childish bullshit once and for all…she just had no idea how she would actually go about making him cease and desist said bullshit. Oh well, she’d play it by ear, and inevitably something would come to her.

_I beat him once. I can do it again._

They walked on in awkward silence, and Sarah let her mind wander to less concerning subjects to distract herself from the mounting cloud of anxiety and anger stewing within her. She couldn’t help but silently marvel at how the thick, white candles in the wall sconces, suddenly flared to life as they came within range.

Despite being an unapologetic prick, Jareth certainly had some impressive magic at his disposal. She’d sooner bite off her tongue than ever admit that aloud though. When they turned the corner, Sarah noted the silent, but watchful presence of armed guards standing at rigid attention against the wall; roughly about every twenty or thirty feet. She supposed it was a sign that they were nearing the throne room.

 _The serpant's nest…_

Just as the thought entered her mind, Sarah spotted a pair of large metal double-doors shaped like two wide, interlocking crosses; rust-tinged and patterned with massive metal scales. They were almost exactly like the doors she recalled helping Ludo shove open at the castle’s main gate, except a bit smaller and sans the gigantic chains on either side.

Two human-sized guards flanked either side of the door; their spiked helmets were glinting in the low candlelight of the sconces. Each guard had a hand poised on one of the circular handles of the double-doors; as if ready to pull them wide at her and Hoggle’s approach.

Jareth had undoubtedly beefed-up his security. The last time she’d been in the castle, the whole place had been a ghost town and the very same doors had been gaping wide-open.

 _Guess, he doesn’t want his property trashed a second time._  
Sarah thought, with a hint of a triumphant smirk curving her lips.

“Wait. Hold-up a minute,” Hoggle whispered and yanked her abruptly by the arm, into a shallow alcove just off the path of the double-doors.

“Hey! What gives?” Sarah yelped in alarm at being manhandled.

“Shhh! Keep it down! I can’t keep ya here long, but I figured he was watchin’ earlier, so I couldn’t say nothin.’ He might still be watchin,’ but it has to be said. We only gots a minute. I need to warn you about somethin’,” Hoggle hissed.

“What is it?” Sarah asked and pulled her arm back; rubbing her wrist where Hoggle had gripped her too tightly.

“Somethin’ ya needs to know. Somethin’ **he** certainly isn’t gonna’ to tell you about. Whatever you do, whatever happens, **don’t** be stayin’ here much past thirteen hours. I never thoughts to bring it up the last time and now that I know more about how he operates…he might try an’ play that angle again,” Hoggle’s eyes were wide and crazed; glinting with manic desperation.

The back of Sarah’s neck prickled with cold unease.

“What angle?” She swallowed hard.

“The thirteenth-hour angle! Did ya ever wonder why he gave you thirteen hours to find yer brother? Not ten, not fifteen, but exactly **thirteen**? There’s a reason fer that. He didn’t just pick a number at random. If ya stays much past thirteen hours, you become Fae by the natural order of this realm."

"Once you become one of us, you ain’t gonna survive in the Aboveground for more than a week, tops. Without contact with the magic of this place, you’ll wither and die! It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then. Believe you me. He purposely didn’t tells ya that it wasn’t just Toby that would become one of us, it was you too!” Hoggle shout-whispered.

“So he was trying to trap **me** here? So all that telling me to forget about Toby and go back to my room stuff, in the nursery, he was baiting me? He knew I wouldn’t listen and would come anyway. It was all just a front to get me here, that rotten sneak!” Sarah exclaimed, and the fire of irritation already burning in her belly welled to an all-out inferno.

“Shhh! Keep yer voice down! They’ll hear you,” Hoggle urged with a desperate gesture, out of the alcove and in the general direction of the guards at the door. “And another thing, don’t be makin’ any bargains with _The Rat_. If he wants somethin’ from ya, it won’t be good."

"If he demands some sort of trade for our safety Sarah, just turns around and walk away. It ain’t worth it. None of us wanna’ see you trapped…or worse,” Hoggle pleaded and all Sarah could manage was a weak nod of acknowledgment, as her mind whirled with the dizzying onslaught of information she'd been virtually walloped with.

“Come on, we gotta’ go,” Hoggle sighed and pulled her along by the wrist once again.

Sarah followed, feeling a bit dazed as she trudged silently behind Hoggle, to the high, scaled doors; the heels of her fancy boots trailing echoing thuds in their wake.

_“It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then… It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then… It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then…”_

Hoggle’s words kept dancing through her head on a loop as she watched the guards pull back the massive doors; her heart a strangling lump in her throat. Why should she care whom Jareth had been after? It didn’t make a damn bit of difference. He was still a lying, manipulative creep.

Probably even worse than she’d first thought; considering he had led her to believe that if she hadn’t solved the Labyrinth within thirteen hours, he would make Toby like him. He hadn’t at all mentioned that Toby would merely become part of this realm according to the natural way of things and that she too would become part of it, right along with him.

_“It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then… It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then… It wasn’t yer brother he was lookin’ to keep back then…”_

Why did a nasty, traitorous little part of her get a dark thrill over the fact that he might have genuinely wanted to keep her? Why did her stupid stomach flutter at the possibility that his offer might have been genuine?

 _Yeah, genuinely piggish! What kind of healthy relationship is based on one partner’s complete and total unquestioning obedience to the other?_

Besides, even if Toby hadn’t been the target, Sarah reminded herself that Jareth hadn’t given a damn if her baby brother had been collateral damage. If her time had run out, Toby would have been trapped in the Underground as well; a helpless baby forever parted from his mother. What kind of monster did something like that?

_A monster who sits on a throne and calls himself a Goblin King._

With her thoughts turned once more towards her indignant anger, Sarah took a deep breath to steel her resolve. She would tell Jareth what was what. She wouldn’t be pushed around. She wouldn’t be manipulated. She would stay strong. She followed Hoggle through the doors with a ramrod spine and firm determination in her step.

_This will be a piece of cake._

Sarah very nearly believed that too, until her eyes locked with a particular pair of disarming mismatched ones and her knees went instantly rubbery; her mouth suddenly desert dry, her palms awkwardly sweaty.

“Hello Sarah, so good of you to finally join us,” Jareth drawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and as always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated :)
> 
> Credit for the concept of Jareth's eyes being different colors because of him having one color from each parent goes to ViciouslyWitty and her fic The Goblin Market. I couldn't resist paying homage to my favorite Laby writer and the very first Laby fic I ever read. <3


	5. Of Audiences and Verbal Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoggle watches all the drama unfurl and inwardly marvels that he doesn't pitch-over and die of a heart attack.

* * *

_Mr. Waite, a young man of Faerie, has forgotten his clothes today, for he was so eager to get over the head and far away. Unconcerned, he idles. "One man's step is another's leap in the dark."_  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p. 148)_

* * *

Hoggle trudged through the gaping double doors, heading down the long stretch of stone steps, to the almost arena-like atmosphere of the throne room. His footsteps were faltering, hesitant; the steps of a man condemned. He wasn’t sure what was about to take place, but the odds were incredibly high that it wouldn’t be good. Nothing involving the Goblin King ever was.

Yet sadly, it was nothing new. His life had been a constant swing from the razor-edge of one panic attack to the next, and it had all started that fateful day when _The Rat_ had appeared in front of him, as he’d been going about his duties as usual. He'd been minding his own business, contentedly spraying faeries and pruning back creeping vines.

The second Jareth had told him that his services were required, for a matter of great importance and that Hoggle was to lead a human girl astray inside the labyrinth, the dwarf had suspected that no good would come of the unwanted task. It was a well-known fact, amongst the common folk, that it was best to stay clear of all matters involving royal intrigue and the like. 

Yet he’d been given no choice and when things had rapidly spiraled out of control because Sarah turned out to be far more clever than Jareth had given her credit for, Hoggle hadn’t been all that surprised. When the King asked you to do something for him, it usually spelled trouble. Everyone knew that.

He’d been a complete fool ever to hope that his part would be finished in the matter, after his pathetic attempt to lead Sarah astray. He’d also been a fool to hope that after Sarah had won, that it would all be over; that he’d just go back to his quiet life as if nothing had ever happened. 

No, the simple life of a Gardner was no longer his and would probably never be again…that is, if he even had a life after what was about to transpire. Well, whatever happened, Hoggle knew that deep down, he didn’t at all regret meeting Sarah. He had once believed that the only person he could ever indeed rely on was himself.

She had proven him wrong, and he was delighted she had. Sarah’s friendship meant the world to Hoggle, and even though he was still very much a coward, he’d do anything for her. Even die for her. Hoggle just fervently hoped it didn’t come to that. 

He glanced around the room nervously, noting that Jareth had assembled not only a generous amount of his castle goblins but the royal gentry as well. So much for his small hope that the meeting would be a low-key affair. Hoggle reminded himself that he really should have known better than to think that Jareth would ever turn down an opportunity to spin even the smallest occasion into a grand, theatric spectacle.

The simpering courtiers stood about, idol in their finery, looking bored and uninterested until their greedy gazes landed upon Sarah. It was then that the symphony of titters and too-loud whispers, which suddenly erupted from them, was near deafening. Even the goblins sprawled lazily at their feet, perked up and began to mutter enthusiastically about the _‘Peach Lady’_.

Sarah didn’t seem to notice any of that though; Hoggle observed with a backward glance, as he crossed the room. He deftly skirted the conversation pit, packed full of wide-eyed, curious goblins and moved to take his spot to the left of the throne’s dais; next to Ludo and Didymus, who were practically bouncing on their heels in excitement to see Sarah again.

Sarah however, only had eyes for the king, Hoggle noted ruefully. He’d always suspected that Sarah’s feelings for _The Rat_ weren’t quite as hate-filled as she would like others to believe. The way her cheeks had flushed prettily at any mention of the king, during their quest to find her brother, had stirred a sneaking suspicion inside Hoggle.

Then, back in the portrait chamber only moments before, when he had seen how she had mooned over Jareth’s image; how she had tenderly touched the painting with such wistful longing glittering in her eyes, Hoggle had instantly known what it meant. It meant a damned lot of trouble!

Sarah already had enough to worry about, with Jareth’s blatant refusal to just let her be. The poor girl didn’t need any silly infatuation to go mucking with her head and weakening her resolve. She’d need her wits about her to deal with _The Rat_.

The King was far too cunning for his own damn good and wouldn’t hesitate, even in the slightest, to exploit so much as a wisp of the advantage provided to him. Hoggle gulped nervously at the way Sarah just stood there, staring at Jareth; as transfixed as a timid lamb, staring up into the salivating jaws of a hungry wolf. 

_Nope, this ain’t good. Not good at all!_

“Hello Sarah, so good of you to finally join us,” The king’s voice cut through the noisy yammering of his assemblage, like the sharpened blade of a knife.

The gathered crowd, instantly went graveyard-quiet; with not so such as a clearing of a throat, or the sniffle of a nose to be heard. 

Hoggle watched, white-knuckled and anxious, as Sarah continued to only awkwardly stand there for a long moment, which seemed to stretch out into the vastness of eternity. She stood as still as a spooked doe, frozen in front of a sudden threat; eyes saucer-wide, as she took in the unexpected crowd. The assemblage openly stared right back at her; as if she were the star attraction of a, particularly entertaining spectacle. 

“Oh, well this is certainly something to take note of. Sarah Williams; speechless. My, my. I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Are you feeling alright, my dear? You do look a bit…worn at the edges,” Jareth quipped; sitting tall and proud upon his throne, with a haughty sneer drawing up one corner of his mouth.

Hoggle noted how well put-together the King currently looked; his black leather armor immaculate and shined to perfection. Jareth’s countenance also once again oozed his signature arrogance-tinged confidence. Looking at him just then, one would never know that the King of the goblins had spent the last six months wallowing in a pathetic drunken stupor.

It was all Hoggle could do to suppress a cackle of laughter, at how truly ironic it was for Jareth to criticize anyone else’s appearance. If Sarah only knew how the Goblin King had languished in his own filth for so very long, Hoggle figured that she would probably throw her head back and chuckle; instead of taking the bait, which the dwarf could clearly see she was doing. Judging by the way her cheeks reddened and her eyes flashed a visible warning, the King’s barbing words had struck their targeted cord. 

_Easy Sarah…_

“My apologies, _Your Majesty_ ,” Sarah strode forward, in the broad gap where the crowd parted to either side; providing a clear path straight to the conversation pit and the throne just beyond it.

Hoggle couldn’t help but wince at the mocking barb she’d made of Jareth’s title.

_Please Gods…Don’t let this get too ugly. I know I ain’t been the most devoted of worshipers, but if ya gets us outta’ this, I’ll…ermm…sacrifice a goat and do a chant or somethin’!_

“I suppose I look a bit _worn_ because threats don’t settle well with me,” Sarah practically hissed as she came to stand just at the edge of the pit.

The goblins packed within the pit stared up at her, with what looked to be almost worshipful awe.

Sarah had been so agitated with Jareth’s choice of words, that she hadn’t noticed how the gentry and goblins alike had bowed their heads and lowered their eyes, in a sign of respect, as she had passed.

“Ser-wah! Ser-wah back!” Ludo exclaimed joyfully; just as the King parted his lips to issue an undoubtedly biting retort. 

_No, ya big walkin’ throw-rug! Now’s not the time to be interruptin’!_

Hoggle hissed inwardly but knew better than to actually open his mouth.

Well, that did it. Sarah’s face immediately lit up at the sight of her friend, a broad smile splitting her lips, as she rushed around the pit and into the beast’s open arms; the Goblin King momentarily forgotten. Hoggle couldn’t help but notice how the King’s gloved grip tightened on the swagger-stick he held; his features darkening with evident displeasure at being interrupted and practically dismissed.

Hoggle gulped. It had only been a couple of moments, and already everything was going sideways! He took a deep breath and resisted the burning urge to kick Ludo in the shin.

“Ludo! Oh, I’ve missed you, big guy!” Sarah exclaimed happily; burying her grinning face contentedly in Ludo’s shaggy, rust-colored fur. 

“Ser-wah back! Ludo missed Ser-wah!” Ludo replied jubilantly, squeezing her tight.

“My lady! It is such a pleasure to see thee again!” Sir Didymus approached, bowing low at Sarah’s feet; Ambrosius making little whimpers of excitement at his side.

 _Oh no! Not you too!_

Hoggle tried not to look up at the King, who was now visibly gritting his teeth and looking like he might attempt to snap his swagger-stick in half at any moment.

“Sir Didymus! Ambrosius! I’m so happy to see you!” Sarah cried and pulled away from Ludo, to bend down and pull the fox-knight close, pressing a kiss to his furred forehead.

Hoggle dared a glance at _The Rat_. Jareth looked on with a terrifyingly flinty glint in his mismatched eyes. Hoggle’s chest suddenly felt far too tight, and his heart crashed violently against his ribs.

The king never had much cared for Sarah showing affection towards anyone else. Hoggle ruefully recalled the result of Sarah kissing him, during their quest to find her brother and how they had only narrowly avoided being dumped into the Bog of Eternal Stench.

_Ugh! Didymus, get back ya fool!_

Hoggle wanted to call out the warning but knew it best to keep quiet. _The Rat_ looked as if he was just itching to take his simmering ire out on someone, anyone and Hoggle preferred it not be him.

“Ambrosius! How have ya been, boy?” Sarah beamed and released Didymus so that she could give the wagging, eager dog, a fond scratch behind the ears.

“So sorry to interrupt this happy, little reunion…but if I do recall correctly, **I** was the one who summoned you here. Was I not?” Jareth’s tone practically dripped with barely-checked irritation, and Sarah rose to level a narrow-eyed stare right at him.

“What do you want, Goblin King?”

“So formal. After all we’ve been through, one would think you would be comfortable calling me Jareth by now,” the King drawled, seemingly in his element again, now that all eyes were securely affixed upon him once more.

“You mean, after all you’ve put me through?” Sarah squared her shoulders as if preparing for a fight.

Jareth gave her an admonishing cluck of his tongue.

“Now, now, pet. No one likes a person whom always insists upon playing the victim. It’s a rather unattractive trait if I do say so myself. Must I remind you yet again that it was **you** who wished your brother away?” Jareth gave an overly long sigh, then feigned sudden interest in the smooth, crystal tip of his swagger-stick; as if he were already bored with both Sarah and the entire conversation.

Hoggle knew it to be an intimidation tactic Jareth often used on his subjects. It was the Goblin King’s way of making those who challenged him to feel small and unimportant. With Sarah, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Judging from the stubborn set of her jaw and the way her hands came to rest defiantly on her hips, Jareth had only succeeded in dropping the proverbial lit match onto a full powder keg. Then again, perhaps that was what the king was going for, Hoggle considered. For someone who supposedly deplored opposition, Jareth always did seem overly eager to bait the girl; almost as if he enjoyed their verbal sparring matches more than he let on.

“I wished him away thinking I was only telling him a story out of a book **you** gave me!” Sarah fumed.

“Ah, so you finally figured out the source of your favorite volume. Took you a while. Perhaps you aren’t as bright as I originally thought. Such a pity,” Jareth taunted with a sardonic twist of his lips, then leveled a look that clearly commanded _‘Well, laugh!’_ at his assembled subjects. 

A disjointed chorus of strained, uneasy chuckles arose from the Gentry and goblins alike; almost as if they were hesitant to offend Sarah and Hoggle supposed they should be. _Champion of the Labyrinth_ was no insignificant title and beating Jareth’s little game had been no easy feat. In fact, no one had ever done it before; so Sarah was indeed a unique being.

“Cut the shit. Again, I’ll ask you, what do you want _Goblin King_?” Sarah’s eyes blazed murder in their glimmering, clover-green depths and she practically spit out Jareth’s title, as if it were a foul curse or an especially offensive vulgarity.

It was then Jareth’s turn to look murderous, as he straightened his spine and sat up as tall and proud as physically possible. With his sharp chin jutting out and his unnerving eyes pinning a blood-stilling glare upon Sarah, from down the bridge of his aquiline nose; _The Rat_ cut a genuinely imposing figure. Hoggle found his hands shaking at his sides, just from the mere sight of the Goblin King in such a temper.

_Oh great! Now you’ve gone and made him mad!_

Even Sarah looked momentarily quelled. Hoggle watched in silent panic, as she swallowed hard and took a hesitant step back. 

_Oh so now yer afraid! Now after you’ve poked the angry bear with a stick! Dammit Sarah!_

“Listen well, little girl. In this realm, one does **not** speak to a king in that insolent tone! You are extremely fortunate that I am still inclined to offer you my generosity, or else you would be sitting alone and forgotten, in the black depths of an oubliette right about now!” Jareth’s voice rang out like a thunder-clap, within the echoing chamber.

Not one living soul dared so much as twitch a muscle. Even Sarah offered up no further argument and just stared up at the King, with fear-widened eyes.

“Now then, if you have no further _pleasantries_ to offer me, I say we discuss the reason for this little audience, yes?” Jareth arched a questioning brow.

When Sarah only gave a terse nod in response, the Goblin King continued.

“Well my dear, to cut to the heart of the matter; it seems each of us has something the other wants. You would like to be able to see your friends again, whenever you’d like, would you not?” Jareth ventured.

“Why do I get the impression that this is some sort of trap?” Sarah scowled.

Jareth only smirked and continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. 

“You see Sarah, I am willing to offer you unhindered access to your dear friends, despite how ungrateful you’ve been towards me in the past,” the King gave a short, dramatic sigh as if he were so very put-upon and exhausted from being ever-so-generous.

Hoggle resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the sentiment of his thoughts reflected in the loud bark of incredulous laughter that erupted from Sarah’s lips.

“Wow, just wow! Yeah, I suppose if being pissed off that you stole my brother away. That you practically forced me into a game, I didn’t want to play. That you cheated at every turn and that you constantly tried to kill, or harm, my friends, and I. That you **drugged** me, then offered me my supposed dreams at the cost of my free will, is being _ungrateful_ , then yeah! I suppose you could say I’m ungrateful as hell!” Sarah fumed, and Hoggle was torn between telling her not to provoke _The Rat_ and applauding.

Of course, he did neither. He didn’t fancy a dip in the bog that morning.

“Defiant girl, have you learned nothing from your time in my Labyrinth? Wasn’t it you who declared that nothing is as it seems? I watched you during your entire trek, and I seem to recall that sentiment leaving those pretty lips of yours, on more than one occasion. Tried to kill you? Hardly!" 

"Believe it or not, I protected you from any real danger the entire time! It was I who sent the dwarf to retrieve you from the oubliette. I could have simply left you in that dank hole until your time ran out. It would have been so effortless, yet I sent Hogwart to fetch you.”

“Tell me, did you ever question how convenient some of your narrow escapes were? Did it not seem entirely too much of a coincidence that the door would simply fall, **just** as the Cleaners were upon you? Did it not seem entirely too fortunate of an occurrence that Higgle just **happened** to show up when those bloody Fireys descended upon you; hell-bent on your decapitation?" 

"How do you think he knew just the right spot to find you? Where did you suppose he got the rope with which he saved you, Sarah? Did you think he just happened to have it on him; was simply carrying it about in his grubby, little pocket? Hmmm?” Jareth’s eyes bore heatedly into Sarah’s, and Hoggle momentarily ducked his head in shame.

He’d never told Sarah how the King had come to him, rope in hand; barking, _“Move your warty backside, Higgert! The girl is in danger!”_ with what looked to be genuine panic flashing in his strange eyes. Jareth had even transported him to just the right place; a spot just above the dead-end Sarah had run to.

After shouting down to her to grab the rope, Hoggle had glanced over his shoulder, to see if the King might lend him a hand, only to find himself staring at nothing but empty space. He’d often wondered, both back then and presently, why Jareth hadn’t seemed to want Sarah to know about his role in her rescue, but Hoggle had figured blabbing would probably have undesirable consequences.

So he had merely kept his mouth shut. However, with Sarah currently shooting him a perturbed glare of admonishment, he very much regretted staying mute on the matter.

“Furthermore, why did you never think to question the oddly convenient placement of handholds on a shoot that’s **supposed** to dump beings into the bog? Did you not also find the wall, with which you used to get to safety, awfully convenient?"

"I’ll let you in on a little secret, Pet; normally that shoot is quite differently designed. Never before was there anything in which to grab onto, to prevent one’s decent. Nor was there ever any wall in which an unfortunate victim could use to get out of their predicament.”

“I might have made some last minute _alterations_ when I saw that my little bout of irritation at the dwarf (for disregarding my warnings), had sent you down to the bog as well. I freely admit that I couldn’t have cared less about Hogsbreath’s fate, but I never once allowed **you** to come to any harm."

"Furthermore, why do you suppose that after taking on an entire goblin army, you came out of the ordeal with nary a scratch? Rather odd how the cannons just miraculously jammed wasn’t it? It was also rather curious how not **one** of my troops ever managed to so much nick you, was it not?"

The objective was to scare and intimidate you enough to give up, **never** to harm you, Sarah. So be mindful of any false accusations you go throwing about regarding that matter,” Jareth snarled. 

Hoggle wasn’t quite sure if he imagined the hurt glinting in the King’s gaze or not.

Sarah only stared at the Goblin King in open bafflement. Hoggle watched as about a dozen different emotions shifted and phased over her young face; her mouth repeatedly opening, only to close a second later, as if she just couldn’t coax the right words to leave her tongue.

“Hoggle. His name is Hoggle,” was all Sarah managed to get out, her voice suddenly sounding small, fragile and just a bit confused.

Jareth let out a long, weary sigh and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist, “Yes, yes. As I said, _Habble_. Now, shall we continue with my proposition?”

Sarah merely shot him a sharp, cutting look, but did not object.

“So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Jareth gave Sarah a short, pointed glance before continuing, “I’m willing to offer you a trade of sorts, for access to your friends.”

“Oh really? And I just can’t wait to hear what you want in return, because your requests and bargains are always so very reasonable,” Sarah replied, her voice somewhat dripping with faux sugary sweetness; a bitter bite of sarcasm underlying her barbed words.

Jareth frowned and Hoggle couldn’t help but notice a faint tick in the King’s tightly clenched jaw.

_Dammit Sarah, stop provokin’ him!_

“Well, my pet, I offer you merely a simple exchange. Their company for yours,” Jareth replied airily; once again resuming the role of a bored monarch addressing a pithy underling, as he again took an overt interest in his swagger-stick.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Sarah retorted; crossing her arms, in an almost protective gesture, about herself. 

From the corner of his eye, Hoggle glimpsed Didymus fidgeting uncomfortably, as he stood valiantly at Sarah’s side. Hoggle supposed he wasn’t the only one nervous about what Jareth’s statement might entail.

All the while, Ludo picked his nose with one hand and toyed with the sword Jareth had given him with the other; blissfully ignorant to the tension-laden charge practically choking the very air from the room.

“It means, precious, that I am willing to permit you to visit with your friends whenever you would like. It would mean their unlimited access to the gateway and their ability to come running whenever you so much as crook your demanding little finger,” Jareth replied drily.

“And the catch? Because there undoubtedly is one,” Sarah challenged.

“No catch whatsoever. That is, if you consider spending two weeks as my guest, here in the castle, on regular three-month intervals, a catch,” Jareth shot her a wide grin; flashing a glimpse of his slightly pointed Fae teeth. 

At those words, Sarah huffed out a mocking laugh.

“Oh, is that all? And let me guess, this arrangement goes on indefinitely? With me having to come to you every three months, for god-knows how long?” 

“Perhaps not indefinitely. Just until I’ve grown weary of your presence, which may not take overly long, considering that you do tend to be a bit of a shrew,” Jareth’s grin grew wider still, and Hoggle found himself unable to suppress a shudder.

_Don’t do it Sarah! It’s a trap it is!_

“Ha! Nice try! I happen to know all about the _thirteen-hour rule_ of this realm. If I accept your little trade and stay past the thirteen-hour mark, I’ll become Fae and won’t be able to leave this place for very long anyway. You know, that whole thing you were trying to pull last time? What’s the matter Goblin King, all outta’ new tricks?” Sarah taunted with a sly grin of her own.

_Stop bein’ so damn cocky! Just tell him ‘no thank you’ and be on your way home!_

“Ah Sarah, are you truly naive enough to believe that I do not know what takes place in my kingdom at all times?” the King admonished her, in the tone one would scold a naughty child who had just been caught guiltily gobbling up all the sweetmeats. 

Without a further word, Jareth conjured up a smooth, gleaming crystal into the cup of his palm, with a sweeping flourish of his wrist. Hoggle immediately got a gut-gnawing inkling that he would not like what was about to transpire. 

“Now that we just happen to be on the subject, I did witness something particularly interesting, just before you and Hoghead joined our little gathering,” The Goblin King’s tone was casual; a bit too nonchalant for Hoggle’s comfort.

When the King’s voice took on that tone, it usually meant he was about to snap and said snapping, as Hoggle was very painfully aware, was typically directed at him. Hoggle found it just a bit harder to breathe, as the crystal became thin and bubble-like; gently floating upward until it was roughly eye-level with Sarah, who openly scowled at it with blatant suspicion.

Once in proper placement, the bubble-crystal expanded to make viewing the image within it, all the more convenient for those gathered near. Hoggle bit his lower lip, icy dread engulfing him in a swift, frigid wave, as Jareth’s crystal began to display the image of him warning Sarah in the alcove just a few moments prior.

_Well, looks like I’m in for it now…_

“So you see, pet, I’m already aware of your knowledge of the aforementioned rule. As you can also plainly see, I am likewise **very** aware of just who gave it to you,” Jareth lowered his gaze to Hoggle; a definite promise of unpleasant things to come, burning within the depths of the King’s unsettling eyes.

Hoggle took a deep, steadying breath as a blast of dizzying panic rendered him momentarily lightheaded. He glanced up at Sarah, who seemed far too lost in her own bafflement to notice the pickle he was currently in.

“So you admit, that you want me to agree to your sham of a trade, just so I’ll lose my humanity by default?” Sarah questioned tersely.

“I admit only that I did indeed try that ploy in the past and as you can see, it didn’t quite work out to my liking,” Jareth gave a short sigh, and when Sarah only stared at him in apparent confusion, he continued.

“So, in the interest of fairness, which I happen to recall you are rather a stickler for; I offer you this gift…”

Jareth stretched a gloved hand towards the hovering crystal and instantly, the translucent orb began to shrink in on itself until it was roughly the size of a peach pit. With another slight gesture of the King’s hand, the shrunken crystal came gliding back to the seat of his leather-encased palm.

Jareth then closed his fingers around the tiny orb and squeezed; as if he were attempting to crush the magical sphere to shattered bits. However, when the Goblin King’s grip slackened, it wasn’t broken, crystalline fragments he held within his hand, but what appeared to be a glittering necklace; winking like a tiny star in the dim lighting of the throne room.

“For you, my dear,” Jareth gave a slight smile and displayed the shiny bauble, for a rather flummoxed Sarah.

Hoggle watched intently as _The Rat_ stuck his fingers through the delicate chain, holding his hand outward and fanning his digits; allowing Sarah and everyone else standing near the throne, to get a good and proper look at his creation. 

Even though Hoggle didn’t trust the offering any more than he would have if Jareth had conjured a snake in its stead, he had to admit, it was a lovely little piece. It had a long silver chain, which looked as fine as a strand of spider silk and glittered like diamond dust.

The pendant was simple, but none the less stunning; a translucent crystal about the same size as the pad of Hoggle's thumb and shaped like a teardrop. It hung from an ornate, silver setting that capped it just at the top. 

The little gem reminded Hoggle of a morning dewdrop catching the sun and was so lovely in its elegant simplicity; that the dwarf found a small breath of an unbidden, wistful sigh leaving his wrinkled lips. Even the goblins who liked to perch upon the metal, rust-tinged wall ornaments behind the throne (which looked like giant, unfurling banners), were craning their warty necks for a better look at the lovely bauble. 

If it had been anyone other than Jareth offering the trinket, Hoggle would have outright envied Sarah for being given such an exceptional gift. Even just merely glancing at it, had his dwarf instincts clamoring to snatch it away and hoard it.

The urge was further intensified by the fact that the King had confiscated his jewel pouch when he had first come to work in the castle; stating that Hoggle was daft enough as it was and needed no further distraction from his duties. Even though his current lack of baubles had him looking at the Necklace Jareth held, like a dog would a juicy cut of meat, Hoggle knew better than to so much as even lift a finger in its general direction.

Firstly, he didn’t at all fancy suddenly finding himself drowning in the fetid waters of the Bog. Secondly, as people often mused (up in the land above), one shouldn’t take gifts from the Devil.

“I don’t understand…what is it?” Sarah asked, her eyes flicking with the distinct glint of distrust; eyeing Jareth’s offering as if it might suddenly sprout fangs and try to bite her.

“It’s a present,” Jareth replied evenly, and Hoggle shuddered; recalling when the Goblin King had turned those very same words towards him when he had been all but forced to give Sarah that damned peach.

_And just like the peach, this is probably gonna mess with her head and confuse her. I gotta say somethin’!_

Hoggle parted his quivering lips to issue a warning, but before he could so much as utter a single syllable, Jareth’s commanding tone filled the room once again.

“You see, precious, this is no ordinary bit of finery. When you secure this about your lovely neck, your humanity shall be shielded and preserved. As long as you wear it while you are here, you will never have to fret about becoming part of the Underground."

"You are also the soul being who possesses the power to remove it. Anyone else will be utterly unable take it from your person, including me. Now, how is that for fair?” Jareth smirked.

Sarah shot him a look of evident disbelief.

“Okay, let’s for a moment pretend that you don’t have a history of always trying to skew things in your favor. Let’s also say your little _present_ won’t do something god-awful to me the second I put it on; what about the fact that my family will notice if I suddenly go missing for two weeks at a time, every few months?"

"I don’t have any excuse for being away that long and that often. There’s no way I can reasonably keep up my end of the bargain without it causing a heap of trouble for me. Let me guess, if I agree and then can’t find a way to make good on my part, I automatically forfeit, right? That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To make it pretty much impossible for me?” Sarah questioned drily.

Jareth gave a snort of mirthless laughter.

“Is your memory really that limited, my dear? Do you truly not recall that I am capable of reordering time within this realm? Do you think me unable of changing the way time moves while you are here? I can easily make two weeks, in this realm, equal but a few mere hours in your world. It would be as simple as blinking my eyes."

"All you would have to do, is find a decent enough excuse for a few hours of your absence, which shouldn’t be all that difficult and the rest will all be taken care of. Believe it or not, my goal this time isn’t winning by default. When I finally claim what is mine, I don’t want there to be even so much as a single utterance that I didn’t play fair; not one iota of doubt that I didn’t rightfully gain my prize.”

“Wait, hold up! What’s all this talk about prizes and winning? I thought you just said this would be an even trade. My time here, for time with my friends. Why am I not at all surprised that it sounds like you’re planning another game? I **knew** there was a catch! Typical Goblin King, ever the liar and dirty sneak!” Sarah fumed.

She stomped her foot as if to punctuate her outrage and Hoggle began to mentally calculate the probability of them making it even as far as the door if he grabbed Sarah by the hand and tried to make a run for it.

“Once **again** little girl, I shall remind you to watch that disrespectful tongue of yours. I have **never** once lied to you, only told you truths your blasted, stubborn ears weren’t keen on hearing. No, there shall be no **new** game, and as I said before, there is no catch. All you truly have to do is grace me with your ever-trying presence,” Jareth ground-out his response from between clenched teeth.

Once again, Hoggle cast out a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening, that Sarah, Didymus, Ludo and he would make it through their current Goblin King confrontation intact.

“Yet you **just** said that you were trying to win a prize! You have to be playing at something to win anything. If we’re not playing a game then why is winning even a factor?!” Sarah bit back, raw exasperation making her voice a bit on the shrill.

Hoggle found himself involuntarily rubbing his ears; trying to soothe away the ache inside them from all her damn shrieking.

Jareth let out an extended sigh, of what sounded like bone-weary exhaustion and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Tell me precious, do you purposely aim to be this thick, or is this just a clever ploy to drive me slowly mad? Did I not just say that there is no **new** game being played? That is nothing but the absolute truth. No new game is being played here because the old one has never truly finished.”

“ **What**?! I won fair and square! That whole thing is done! And there’s no freaking way you are involving my brother again! That’s it! I’m leaving. I’m done with you and this whole crazy-ass place! Nu-uh, never again. I’m not playing any more games with you, pal; old **or** new! Nope, nope, nope!” Sarah huffed with an abrupt spin on her heels, her back to the King, as she took a few stomping steps towards the exit.

Hoggle observed her furious departure, with a mingled ache of sadness and bitter-sweet relief, twisting inside his belly. He would always miss his first and truest friend, but Sarah being safely away from Jareth’s grasping clutches, was worth the steep price of continued contact. 

_Now, if only _The Rat_ will let her go without any trouble…_

“Oh, so you’re quite done with your friends as well, I take it? Because without the arrangement I just proposed, I’m afraid they won’t be allowed to visit, or even so much as speak to you. The silence of the past six months will simply stretch on and on and **on** ,” Jareth’s tone was airy and casual, a deep-rooted smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.

Sarah’s steps stilled their _click-clacking_ ; her booted feet freezing in place upon the dirty flagstone floor and Jareth’s crooked, toothy grin grew all the more extensive. She didn’t turn; only stood there with her stiff back facing the throne. Hoggle knew without even seeing her expression that the Goblin King had her ensnared; like a silk-wrapped fly thrashing futilely about in a web, awaiting the inevitable bite of a spider.

Sarah was the most loyal friend there ever was, anyone who knew even the tiniest bit about her, knew that. Jareth apparently, was poised to take full advantage of that little nugget of knowledge. The King knew good and well that Sarah would never deliberately turn her back on Hoggle or the others. In fact, he’d been counting on it.

_Damn you Jareth…_


	6. Of Blood Oaths and Strange Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoggle continues to observe the showdown between Sarah and the King with an ever-growing sense of dread that his dearest friend might have just gotten herself into a sticky situation, which could be next to impossible to get her out of.

* * *

_Can I tell you how to do this? No, but I know it is important to try._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faerie: p.154)_

* * *

Hoggle wasn’t entirely sure how long Sarah stood there; her rigid back turned to the King; not a single sound, or even a twitch of a movement, coming from her stock-still form. It seemed a small eternity before Ludo’s quavering voice obliterated the stagnant silence.

“Ser-wah, go? Ludo, miss Ser-wah!” the beast wailed, and Hoggle didn’t even have to glance at the King to know that Jareth’s entire demeanor was positively dripping with satisfaction at the witless bag of fur’s timing.

_Oh great! Well, there goes any chance of her gettin’ out of this!_

At last, Sarah turned and looked at the hulking beast, with what appeared to be unshed tears glittering wildly within her eyes.

“Oh Ludo…” She breathed shakily, her lower lip trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Ludo love Ser-wah! Ser-wah friend. No go. Stay with Ludo,” The big, shaggy oaf pleaded, and Hoggle tamped down the burning urge to stomp on Ludo’s gigantic foot, just to get him to shut his trap.

“My lady, I apologize on behalf of my rather emotionally sensitive brother. We do, in fact, understand, if thou art unable to stay…and if thine path leads elsewhere,” Sir Didymus chimed in, evidently trying to diffuse the situation, but only succeeded in making it worse, with his choked voice and wobbling, furry chin.

Even Ambrosius let out a low, kneeing whine and the tears Sarah had been scarcely holding at bay, began to slip down her pale cheeks; creating wet, glistening trails as they went. Hoggle’s heart squeezed painfully within his chest; silently panicking at seeing his dear friend in such a state and knowing full well that it meant that Jareth had found the perfect proverbial chink in Sarah’s armor, in which to squirm through. 

_Great…just great…_

Hoggle cut a glance at the Goblin King, who looked as if he might very well jump from his throne and begin singing and dancing at any moment. 

_It wouldn’t be the first time…_

“Sarah, my pet, perhaps you should wait until I have fully explained myself, before you go storming off in a petulant huff,” Jareth drawled.

The King regarded the girl with what looked to be an almost bored expression resting upon his aristocratic features. However, Hoggle took note of the odd glimmer in the King’s mismatched gaze, as he looked upon Sarah’s tear-stained face; it almost looked to be a mingling of regret and fierce possessiveness. 

Strange. The Goblin King never seemed to regret his callous treatment of others. Not even a little. Perhaps Jareth’s feelings for Sarah ran a bit deeper than just a spoiled monarch being denied a shiny new prize to play with.

Hoggle had always assumed that Jareth’s brooding and wallowing of the past months had merely been the result of being denied something he’d wanted, which was something completely foreign to the Goblin King.

Just then, as the usually cynical Hoggle, studied the alien emotion dancing within the King’s fevered gaze, he began to wonder about a great many things.

_Eh, perhaps I’m just readin’ too much into all of this._

Sarah remained silent and merely cast Jareth a look, up through her tear-dampened lashes that broadcasted her desire to do the King bodily harm. However, when she made no verbal protest, Jareth spoke again.

“Now, what is that delightfully droll saying you Aboveground beings use, in regards to assumption? Ah yes, _‘You know what happens when you assume. You make an ass out of you and me.’_ You see precious, you are merely **assuming** that I intend to involve young Tobias once again, which I assure you, I have no intention of doing,” Jareth informed her.

“Then what do you mean by the old game never being finished? The old game was all about me getting to Toby in time. If it doesn’t involve him, then what **does** it involve?” Sarah asked tartly, crossing her arms over her chest, in a manner that bespoke of her ever-thinning patience.

“As I mentioned just a bit ago, as well as visually demonstrated, I know what the dwarf said to you in the alcove. He told you that it wasn’t your brother I had been after when you ran my Labyrinth all those months ago. Although Hoghead is truly a bumbling buffoon of phenomenal proportions, he wasn’t incorrect on that account."

"The infant Tobias was merely a means to an end and not at all the commodity I had been set upon acquiring. You see Sarah, the game that started the very second you cracked the spine on that little red book, was truly only between you and I."

"Like it or not, it is a game that will continue to play out until there is some form of true absolution. The past months since you left this realm were but a brief pause, a _time-out_ if you will. However, you and I, Sarah Williams, we're far from finished,” Jareth replied, in a tone bordering on grave, as if he anticipated a long, drawn-out struggle on her end and the mere thought utterly exhausted him.

“But…why? I seriously don’t get it! Why keep toying with me? Is being a king in a magical world really that dull of a gig, that you just **have** to keep messing with me? And what do you mean by _absolution_? How in the hell do you even see this ending?” Sarah dropped her hands to her sides; her rigid fingers instantly curling into tightly-balled, trembling fists.

“There is only one way I will ever allow it to end; with you as my queen,” Jareth told her, all traces of his earlier smug teasing completely dried-up. 

If the situation hadn’t been so tension-laden and severe, Hoggle might have let out a cackle of amusement at Sarah’s ridiculously comical facial reaction, upon hearing the King’s little declaration. The girl looked as if she had just been bitten in the face by a Nipper. Hoggle supposed it would be a great deal to take in.

Hoggle himself had been privy to The Goblin King’s true intentions over the past months, but this was the first Sarah had ever heard of it. So her completely gob-smacked expression was entirely appropriate. For a long moment, Sarah only stood there gaping at Jareth, jaw hanging wide, eyes blinking furiously. 

“You might want to close that pretty little mouth of yours, precious. Before something as ghastly as a Biting Bog Fly ventures in. Those nasty little buggers can consume five times their own body weight, in blood. Although they seldom venture as far as the castle, one can never be too careful,” the King quipped.

 _The Rat_ cast the girl a teasing wink; as if they had only just been discussing mere pleasantries, instead of life-altering declarations.

Even after being in the Goblin King’s close company for months on end, Hoggle still found His Majesty’s fluid mood-swings to be positively dizzying. Hoggle scrubbed a small, wrinkled hand over his face; taking in a long, steadying breath. 

_Ugh…I’m too old for this shite…_

When Hoggle again focused on the scene before him, after his all-too-brief reprieve, he saw that Sarah was still staring wide-eyed at the King. The girl said nothing, only made a distressed hum from deep within her throat, then closed her mouth with an audible _snap_.

“Wh-why, do you keep calling me that? _Precious_? You’ve never called me that before, but I think…I remember hearing it…in a song…a very sad song. A song you sang in that crazy room, the last time I was here…” She finally choked out, and Hoggle was a bit surprised by her strange response.

He had expected a barrage of inquiries regarding the metaphorical ton of bricks Jareth had just dropped upon her. Instead, she was asking about a pet-name and a song??? Studying her closely, Hoggle saw that Sarah looked utterly dazed. Her eyes were glassy. Her pupils were blown wide, and her cheeks were alarmingly flushed.

This was all just too much for her, and she was bending under the immense pressure of it all; understandably so. She was the lone Above-Grounder in a room full of Fair-Folk, being virtually walloped with the fact that the King of the realm had definite plans set in place for her future; plans she’d had no idea of; plans the King pretty much just stated she had very little say in.

Hoggle knew it was time to get her out. Perhaps if he appealed to Jareth’s sense of reason; pleaded with him that this was all just too much for the girl to take in and that she needed time to process?

“I call you as such because that’s what you are; a truly precious thing; my treasure; my intended; my future queen,” Jareth answered levelly, but his eyes were blazing with that unnerving, almost manic, possessive light once again.

“But…y-you just said that you only wanted my company until you tired of me and that would probably be very quickly,” Sarah sputtered, floundering in her own exasperation.

“I did, didn’t I? I say a lot of things. Who is to say what truly constitutes as _fairly quickly_? After all, that Einstein chap did say that time is relative…and when one can reorder time, how is one to measure any amount of it properly?" 

"What is _quickly_ to you, can be quite extensive to another and vise versa. See? All relative. It’s only forever, precious. That’s not very long at all,” Jareth replied airily.

“Oh…damn…I really, **really** don’t understand any of this!” Sarah wailed, pressing her hands to either side of her head and scrunching her eyes closed tight.

“My lady, thou art overwrought!” Sir Didymus cried; rushing to her side and giving her an awkward pat on the leg, as a gesture of comfort. “Perhaps tis, not the best time to discuss this any further, Sire?” the fox knight inquired of Jareth.

Before Hoggle could second-guess himself, he took a deep breath and threw in his two-cents as well; “The girl **could** use a bit to clear her head, yer Majesty.”

“Ser-wah saaaad! No make Ser-wah sad!” Ludo growled at the King, wrapping a large, furry arm protectively around the girl’s side.

If looks alone were capable of killing, Hoggle mused that he and his comrades would probably have dropped lifeless to the floor, the second Jareth’s double-barreled-death-glare bore down upon them.

“You three, lowly curs, forget your place. This matter is between your future Queen and I. If you are so keen on butting in, a nice, long stay in a lightless oubliette might cool your enthusiasm for spouting off to your betters,” Jareth hissed, murder flashing in his mismatched eyes.

Hoggle swallowed hard, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

“ **Stop!** Just stop being such a damn bully! If I’m so _precious_ to you, you’ll stop threatening my friends!” Sarah had suddenly regained her _ever-so-Sarah-like_ inner fire and pulled away from Ludo, to boldly charge up to the Goblin King’s seat of power.

She even went as audaciously far as to climb up two of the four steps on the throne’s dais, to gain a better point of vantage in which to level a burning glare of her own at the ireful King.

The gentry and goblins alike suddenly erupted in a chorus of shocked gasps and urgent whispers. No one ever dared approach the throne in such a manner.

“Sarah, please…come away from th-” Hoggle began, but was abruptly cut off by his spitfire of a human friend, who apparently had zero sense of self-preservation. 

“No, Hoggle! I’ve had **enough!** ” Sarah spat over her shoulder, then turned her burning jade eyes to the King. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I will **never** be your queen!"

"I don’t care if you protected me in the Labyrinth and I don’t care if you are suddenly so very concerned about making things supposedly fair. You’ve done nothing but threaten, scare and belittle me and those I care about. I could never love and marry someone who does things like that,” the girl glowered at the King.

“Ah, my pet, you talk of love and marriage as if they are one in the same. How adorably naive. You are correct in one aspect, however. You do not have to love me. Although I would openly welcome such emotional devotion from my queen, it is not a direct requirement," Jareth began.

”Many a powerful match in both worlds above and below have lacked that particular element. Our union would not be the first, nor would it be the last. You will, however, most certainly marry me. I care not how long it takes to convince you that your place is and has always been right here, in this realm, by my side."

"One day you **will** realize just what you threw away when I offered you **everything**. Perhaps then you will finally show me the gratitude I am due,” despite his impassioned words, Jareth’s tone was pure ice, and Hoggle was amazed that Sarah’s skin did not begin to frost over from the complete lack of warmth in the Goblin King’s glacial stare.

“No! Screw that! You don’t get to decide my future. You don’t get to push me into anything. No deal. No game. No nothing! You can take my supposed _gratitude_ and shove it up your royal ass!” Sarah cried, but unlike her last declaration of that sort, she made no move to turn and storm out.

Jareth had her over a barrel, and she very well knew it. The King most **certainly** knew it. Instead of his usual outburst of blistering outrage, which usually resulted from Sarah momentarily gaining the upper-hand in their continued power struggle, Jareth merely tutted at her, as if she were a disobedient child and he the admonishing parent. The upper-hand was now clearly in his possession.

“Now, now precious. You know as well as I, that your friends will **not** fare well if you do not agree to this little arrangement. I hold their fates securely within the palm of my hand, and I regret to report that my sense of generosity is quickly waning."

"That is no threat; only a promise. Are you really so selfish that you would choose their suffering over an agreement that would only be of the slightest inconvenience to you? If one can even call getting to laze about in luxury, within the walls of a grand castle, for two weeks at a time, an inconvenience,” Jareth arched his brow dramatically, both in question and in challenge.

With eyes blazing like twin infernos of hatred, Sarah stood there, on the steps of the dais, staring down into the unrelenting steely gaze of the Goblin King. She sized him up as one might a coiled snake; with untrusting weariness and a good measure of fear.

Again, every living being in the room seemed to be waiting with bated breath, their necks straining for a better look, their hands clutched tensely to their unmoving chests. It was when Sarah dropped her gaze to the steps beneath her feet and let out a long, hissing sigh that Hoggle knew she had decided to relent. 

The dwarf’s stomach dropped clear to his toes, and his heart felt as if it were being crushed beneath the massive weight of one of Ludo’s boulders. Sarah would never be free of _The Rat_ now. Any sort of life she could have had, free of the Goblin Realm and its mad king, would be forever lost to her.

Because of himself and the others, Sarah would forever be like a hapless butterfly trapped within a glass jar; confined for the amusement and pleasure of a selfish, cruel soul. Hoggle couldn’t even begin to comprehend how he was going to proceed to live with that knowledge hanging over his head, like a blazing red banner of guilt, for the rest of his life. 

If he and the others had just kept their distance back during Sarah’s run of the Labyrinth. If they had only resisted the pull of her warm, friendly smile and her bold, tenacious nature, Jareth would have nothing in his arsenal to use against her; to make her give up any semblance of a safe, normal, and happy life.

_I’m so sorry Sarah…_

“Tell me the rules of this, new/old game, Goblin King. What would I do during my time here, run the Labyrinth again? Try to beat you at games of chance? Because I find it very hard to believe that all that I have to do is sit around,” Sarah lifted, her head and pressed her shoulders back, in a vain attempt to appear unshaken; her choked voice and trembling chin belying her efforts. 

“On the contrary, nothing of the sort is required of you. When I said that the old game was unfinished, I was simply referring to the unresolved matters between you and myself. You have already solved my Labyrinth. I see no need for a second demonstration of your abilities."

"No, all this new arrangement will require of you, is spending time within my company. Nothing more. The arrangement will carry out exactly as previously mentioned until of course, the day you admit that you made the wrong choice at the end of your Labyrinth run." 

"The arrangement will end only when you **beg** me, ever so sweetly, to reinstate the generous offer I made to you that day in the Escher room,” the King replied with yet another wide, toothy grin.

Oh yes, Jareth _The Rat_ was exactly where he loved to be most; in control. 

“Oh and what offer would that be? The one where I do everything you say without question, and you’ll be my supposed _slave_? Fuck that,” Sarah spat.

Jareth only threw back his kingly head and let out a loud, throaty laugh, its sheer volume, and tone, unnerving, to say the least. Hoggle clenched his jaw tight; wincing with a deep, shuttering cringe at the nerve-scraping sound.

The courtiers and goblins again added their strained laughter to the mix, and with that, Sarah turned wild, anger-filled eyes to their audience. The silence that followed Sarah’s wordless admonishment was immediate and as stagnant as the inside of a mausoleum. Not one soul welcomed the ire of the champion, the defeater of kings. 

“Oh dear me, precious, do you kiss your mother with that filthy gutter of a mouth?” the goblin King quipped, dabbing away tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, with a gloved finger.

Hoggle noticed Sarah’s already crimson-tinted cheeks grow redder still, but when she finally parted her tightly pursed lips to speak, it wasn’t the expected explosion of Goblin King insults that issued forth.

“So let me get this straight? You expect to order me to your side every few months, for an endless stretch of time, until I supposedly give in to your non-existent charms and beg to become your queen? Nope. Not happening, pal."

"If we do it that way, it will probably go down in your kingdom’s history as one of the most colossal wastes of time ever, because I am **never** giving in. You once upped the stakes on me, by turning the clock forward. How about you put your money where your mouth is and do the same for yourself?” Sarah challenged. 

“And by that, my dear, you propose what exactly?” The Goblin King asked with a casual tilt of his head; his features composed in an overly-exaggerated and indisputably mocking, portrayal of one being ever-eager to listen. 

“I propose that you set yourself a time limit in which to _‘woo’_ me. Might I suggest no longer than six months? Two visits?” Sarah asked, with a borderline mocking tone of her own, as she perched her hands saucily upon her hips.

“Pah! My Kingdom, my rules. Simply put, I am King. If I choose to grant myself an unlimited amount of time in which to accomplish my goal, I can, and I’ll bloody well do it, regardless of previously limiting another on a similar challenge. Again, I am **King**. I will answer to and justify my actions to, no one; even you, precious thing,” Jareth snorted at her dismissively.

“Oh, but didn’t you say that you didn’t want there to be even so much as a _‘single utterance’_ that you didn’t play fair? Gifting yourself with unlimited time, when I wasn’t even given the full thirteen hours I was initially promised, because **you** manipulated time, hardly seems fair to me,” Sarah replied drily.

Hoggle was inwardly torn between wanting to applaud her and to shout at her to shut her damn gob and walk away; just like he’d told her only but a bit ago in that alcove. She had nodded her head! She had agreed not to bargain with _The Rat_ , and here she was doing the very thing he had warned her not to do! 

_Gah! Dammit girl, don’t ya ever listen?!_

Jareth shot Sarah a look of complete vexation, but paused nonetheless; tapping a leather-encased finger thoughtfully upon his chin, considering.

“Very well, pet. Ten years. Ten years of your visits here and if by the end of that time, you have still not taken your rightful place at my side, you may consider our bargain null and void. Not that it will **ever** play out that way, but being as I am rather fond of you, grating defiance and all, I shall indulge my future bride,” Jareth sighed.

“Ten years! An entire freaking decade?! No! Not just no, but **hell no**! I don’t need an entire decade to make up my mind about something I am already dead-set against. This-” Sarah gasped, gesturing wildly around her, “will never be my home; will never be my life!” 

Hoggle couldn’t help but feel a sharp slice of pain, at Sarah’s words, stripe across his heart. Of course, he knew perfectly well that the Underground wasn’t her home. She was human; she belonged in the human world with her human friends and family.

Logically, Hoggle understood all of this with vivid, crystal clarity. A small, selfish part of him wished he could just drown out the part of his mind that knew better (the irritatingly stubborn part of his brain that just wanted to do the right thing) so that he might keep his dearest friend with him always. 

However, Hoggle knew with unwavering certainty that it just wasn’t right; to condemn anyone to a loveless marriage with _The Rat_. Hoggle silently swore to himself that if there were any way he could possibly get Sarah out of her predicament, he’d do it no matter the cost to his own well-being. No matter what bargain Sarah might make with the King; Hoggle vowed that he would do his best to help her find a way out of it.

“Never say never, darling,” Jareth smirked, “That word truly does have a nasty habit of tempting fate.”

Sarah only made a strangled snarl of frustration, from deep within her throat.

“Fine. Since you always seem to have a knack for coaxing out my generous side, why don’t we say eight years then? Hmm?” Jareth resumed his air of feigned nonchalance, toying with his swagger stick, thoroughly examining his gloved fingers and just generally casting his attention anywhere, but Sarah.

“No! That’s still way too long! **One** year,” Sarah countered.

“Pffft! Do you think me utterly daft? **seven** years,” the Goblin King shot back, his mask of casual indifference instantly shattered.

“In your dreams! **Two** years!” Sarah snarled, her stormy green eyes flashing with outrage and Hoggle could see her control begin to unravel before his very eyes.

_Easy now Sarah…ya gotta keep your wits about ya._

“Six!” Jareth countered, his gaze sparking with a sort of unhinged determination.

“Five!” Sarah ground out from in-between clenched teeth, “I **won’t** go any higher. This is my **life** we’re bargaining over, not a freaking rug at the flea-market!”

“I find your delusion that you somehow have any room for negotiation at all, to be almost charming. Allow me to remind you that I am very much capable of sending your friends to the depths of the Bog of Eternal Stench, with but a mere crook of my little finger. So logically, it probably is not the best of ideas to go demanding anything of me,” the King glowered.

Sarah paused for half a beat, tilting her head to study Jareth as if he were but a vaguely interesting painting hanging on the wall.

“Ah yes, extortion, your go-to ace in the hole. Let me ask you something, Goblin King. You said that me loving you wasn’t a requirement, that it didn’t matter. So I wonder, does my hatred matter at all? Because if you actually hurt my friends, there is no way in hell that I will **ever** feel anything for you other than hate."

"You’ve mentioned my being stubborn quite a few times. Do you really believe I’d ever relent once I let myself go there? Because as of right now, I’m definitely not at all that keen on you. You are a **huge** pain in the butt…but I don’t hate you,” Sarah leveled a firm, no-nonsense stare upon the King; shoulders back, spine straight.

Within that moment, Hoggle mused that his friend looked every bit the queen that Jareth was trying so adamantly to force her to become.

“You took my brother, but you didn’t hurt him and as you pointed out, you never really hurt me,” Sarah continued blithely. “I have a terrible suspicion that you’ve been just awful to poor Hoggle, but he doesn’t look to be physically harmed in any way. Ludo and Didymus seem almost content…so for the time being, hatred isn’t something I feel for you."

 **"However** , cross that line; hurt those I care about, and there won’t ever be any chance of me not utterly loathing you every single, solitary second of every passing day. If forever isn’t all that long to you, try sharing it with someone who cheerfully fantasizes about your demise as their official pastime of choice.”

“Besides, why do you need more than five years? I thought you were the mighty Goblin King. _‘Jareth the Cunning,’_ right? Surely you are capable of convincing a lowly human to agree to be your queen within five years’ time? I mean, for someone of your proclaimed prowess, even five years seems a bit much…” Sarah baited, with wide, faux-innocent eyes.

_Gods Sarah, I sure hope you know what you’re doin’…_

Hoggle inwardly pleaded, hanging on baited breath, as he watched a myriad of different emotions shift across the Goblin King’s face.

“Five years and not a day less,” Jareth finally replied, in a tone that dwelled somewhere within the precarious territory between a sigh and a growl.

The assembled crowd fell into a frenzied burst of chaotic sound once again but silenced almost immediately after Sarah gave an overly-loud clearing of her throat as a call for quiet.

“Yet before I officially agree to anything, I humbly make just a few small requests of His Majesty. You know, as a gesture of your goodwill and ever so _generous_ nature,” Sarah cast Jareth a saccharine-sweet smile, punctuated with a few exaggerated blinks of her lashes.

“Of course you have requests. Why would you not? It seems that you have bloody well made it your utmost urgent mission to vex me within a hair’s breadth of going utterly mad. So why ever would you be agreeable now?” Jareth monotoned, with an arched brow of evident irritation, “By all means, go ahead. Let us all hear what Sarah Williams wants now.” 

“Well,” Sarah began, shooting Jareth a narrow-eyed look for the barbed insinuation of her supposed greed, “For starters, I want your word that you will never harm, or threaten, my friends again. Form this point on they are to be left totally out of this."

"Speaking of which, I want you to give Hoggle back his old job. He seems miserable, and for Pete’s sake, give him back his jewels! I noticed his pouch was missing back in the hallway and I don’t doubt for a second that you’re responsible. You know how obsessed he is with his jewelry. Taking it away is just plain cruel, even for you, Goblin King,” Sarah admonished.

“All of that, just for _starters_ ,” Jareth grumbled and gave a slight shake of his golden head, then turned his nerve-wracking gaze upon Hoggle.

The dwarf tried his best to keep his knees from buckling, as the King regarded him with an outright surly stare but found the task all but impossible.

“Well, what say you, Hedgewart? Would you care to resume your pithy duties as a gardener?” Jareth asked in a bored tone, as if any matter regarding Hoggle weren’t even worth so much as even the tiniest fraction of his royal time.

Hoggle found himself awash in a flood of mingled light-headed relief and crushing, breath-stealing, disappointment. A large part of him (the Dwarfish, inherently self-serving part) wanted to pounce upon the opportunity he’d been unexpectedly given, like a ravenous Tallow Goblin would an unwitting victim.

However, the smaller and much newer part, the part that had been recently planted within him, like a tiny seedling; the _seedling_ that was nurtured by the goodness and warmth of Sarah’s friendship, adamantly ordered him to refuse. Yes, returning to the simple and relatively carefree existence of his old life would be nothing short of a desperate dream come true. 

Yet, Hoggle knew he had to refuse, no matter how desperate his desire to accept was. Sarah was going to be a regular guest at the Goblin Castle. He would be unable to keep a proper eye on her if he returned to his little cottage home, on the outskirts of the Labyrinth.

Besides, Hoggle fully intended to keep the vow he’d just made to himself; in regards to helping his headstrong friend find a way out of the mess she’d just gotten herself mired in. Hoggle knew it would do no good to argue with Sarah now. Judging by the fire burning in her eyes and the determined set of her jaw, there would be no convincing her to turn back now. 

As much has Hoggle despised the idea of staying in his current position, firmly wedged beneath Jareth’s tyrannical thumb, he couldn’t deny that it was a prime vantage point from which to help Sarah. He’d entirely forfeit his advantage if he went back to his old life, and as much as Hoggle dearly wanted to, he couldn’t turn his back on the girl.

He’d done it once before, and the guilt had nearly eaten him from the inside out; like moldering rot from within an overripe piece of fruit. No, Hoggle knew he’d rather die than ever do something so atrocious again. He would just have to remain Jareth’s pet whipping boy until he could figure out how to help Sarah and just maybe, help himself too.

_Ugh…if only she’d taken my advice and walked away. I should’ve known she wouldn’t listen. Shouldn’t have even wasted my breath back in that alcove…_

With that rueful thought, Hoggle gritted his jaw, took in a deep, shuddering breath and answered the King with a pained grimace firmly affixed to his face; “Errr…if it’s all the same to you Sire, I’d rather keep my position here in the Castle.”

“Huh?” Sarah turned to gawk at him, confusion deeply furrowing her dark brow. 

Hoggle couldn’t blame her for looking at him as if he’d just declared that the Bog Dweller’s village would make a lovely summer home. If he were in her shoes, he’d have thought himself completely bonkers as well. Who in their right mind would ever want to continue to be the proverbial beaten dog at _The Rat’s_ shiny, booted feet?

Sarah didn’t even know the half of how dismal serving as Jareth’s valet had been. If she’d known the full truth of it, Hoggle mused that she probably would have smacked him right in the head; hoping to knock some sense into his thick skull.

Hoggle wanted to explain himself; anything to wipe that look of disgusted pity from Sarah’s shocked face, but he couldn’t let the King know precisely why he wished to remain right where he was. It was just like playing a game of cards; it would be a fool’s move to freely show his hand.

“Errr…umm… I've already settled here an all. Don’t make much sense to move again and these old joints just ain’t what they use to be. The trip all the way back to the Labyrinth’s border would be murder on em.’ And I don’t have a mirror in my cottage…so…errm…using the Gateway would be out,” Hoggle offered lamely.

“Fine, fine Higgle. A simple _‘No thank you. I will stay’_ would have sufficed. No one wants to know the entire story of your sad, little life,” Jareth replied with a dismissive sniff, before turning to Sarah, “You see? Hilbert is as content as a cat with a bowl of cream.”

“Yeah…I find that extremely hard to believe,” Sarah glowered at _The Rat_ , then returned her attention to Hoggle once again; “You sure about this? You **really** want to stay here?”

Hoggle gave a half-hearted shrug, “My joints just wouldn’t hold up on a trip like that….and this gig is as good as any.”

Hoggle was suddenly thankful that his predicament was nothing like that poor Pinocchio fellow. He’d read all about the unfortunate boy, in a book of human children’s stories that he’d traded one of the fine brass buttons from the tunic of his uniform for, at Gurdy the Burnisher’s booth, in the Goblin City market.

According to the story, poor Pinocchio’s nose grew every time he told a lie. Hoggle could only imagine just how long **his** nose would be in that particular instance if he were likewise cursed with Pinocchio’s particular affliction. After the sizable heap of lies, he’d just told, Hoggle supposed his nose would be long enough for the castle washerwomen to comfortably hang all the drying linens on and still have room left over!

“Fine, suit yourself,” Sarah muttered, looking as if she believed his sincerity about as much as the wife of a Racing Goblin believed her husband to be faithful, which wasn’t much at all. 

“Well, at least treat him fairly,” Sarah told the King. “Provide him with seasonally appropriate clothing, give him back his things and pay him a decent wage for his services because something tells me that you haven’t at all hesitated to make him jump and crawl at your every whim…and no more talking to him in that snotty manner!"

"Hoggle is my friend. If you care about me at all, you will respect the fact that I don’t want my friends treated like garbage,” Sarah huffed and crossed her arms defensively in front of her.

Hoggle could see that she was trying her damnedest to appear nothing but brave and resolute, as she stared down into _The Rat’s_ intimidatingly shrewd gaze.

Unfortunately, the slight tremor in her hands, as they rested rigidly against her upper-arms, was a blaring give-away that the Labyrinth’s Champion wasn’t feeling as brave and bold as she was playing at being.

Surprisingly though, Jareth didn’t choose to exploit that telling little tidbit. He simply let out a short sigh of annoyance, gave a curt nod of his head and bit out, “Very well. Done.”

“There’s more,” Sarah replied, steel edging her tone.

“Oh, but of course there is. I would expect nothing short of a demand list capable of wrapping around the entirety of my Labyrinth from you, Sarah Williams,” Jareth sighed again and shot her a humorless grin, which she chose to ignore.

“Next, I want your word that you won’t **ever** involve **any** member of my family ever again. Not Toby, not my parents, not even my stepmom Karen. Not any of my friends or acquaintances from my world either. You won’t involve them, threaten them, or otherwise harm them. When I say that this is to remain completely between the two of us, I mean it. You mess with anyone I know or care about, and the deal is off,” Sarah informed him.

“Fine. Besides, if I were ever daft enough to tangle with your shrew of a stepmother, I would no doubt be sliced to bloody ribbons, within seconds, due to that wickedly sharp tongue of hers,” the King quipped. 

To Hoggle's chagrin, he saw that Sarah had to fight back a smile that began to tug insistently at her lips.

“I don’t doubt that at all,” Sarah agreed, suppressed laughter rippling within her voice and Hoggle felt more than a bit uneasy with the way her eyes suddenly glittered at _The Rat_.

_Keep your head about ya, girl!_

“Please continue, precious,” The Goblin King inclined his head in a slight, inviting bow.

The King's tone had suddenly become a great deal softer, and his entire countenance seemed to warm at just that small glimpse of girlish sweetness, which Sarah had let shine through her shoddily erected emotional walls.

Hoggle tamped down the sudden, strong urge to slap his wrinkled palm to his face.

“Well, lastly, I want your absolute word that you won’t pull any fast ones. No tricks, no underhanded BS. You’ll try to get me to agree to stay the normal way, by at least attempting to act like a nice guy. I know that might be difficult for you, but it’s the only way I’d ever remotely consider taking you up on your offer,” Sarah replied, making a vain attempt at pulling some of her former crispness back into her voice and failing miserably. 

“Oh? I seem to be making progress already. Just a moment before, you tartly informed me that you would **never** be my queen. Now you say there’s a chance that you’ll consider. How interesting,” the King’s lips spread in a broad, almost predatory, smile.

“I…well…I won’t. I w-was just saying…well, are you going to agree to my terms or not?” Sarah sputtered, her cheeks suddenly going redder than the beets Hoggle use to grow in the little vegetable patch, behind his cottage.

_Oh great…ya might as well just hold up a banner that says, ‘I’m a silly girl with a foolish infatuation’!_

Hoggle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, in a feeble attempt to stave off a stress-induced headache that had begun to thunder mercilessly, just behind his eyes.

“Very well, pet. You have my word on all counts,” Jareth gave a short nod; the leering smile still undying upon his lips.

_Smug bastard. You think you’ve won already, don’t ya? Well, I ain’t gonna’ to let Sarah throw her life away on the slimy likes of you! Mark my words, Rat!_

“Oh…okay. Well, shouldn’t we sign a contract or something? Not to be a bitch or anything, but when it comes to you, I’m not going to call it good with just a verbal agreement,” Sarah informed the King, her frayed nerves evident in her weary tone.

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t ever dream of leaving such an important matter unsealed, but I find contracts to be such a poor way of protecting one’s own interests and assets. Blood oaths, on the other hand, are so much more final and binding,” Jareth replied breezily, tossing his swagger stick casually into the air above his head, where it promptly vanished into the ether, without a trace. 

The Goblin King then closed the fingers of his newly freed left hand, forming a tightly compacted fist; his right hand still clutching the delicate necklace he’d conjured for Sarah, where it rested, poised upon his lap.

_Course you’d wanna’ cover your arse as much as possible. Still won’t stop me from gettin’ Sarah out of this though. Just like every agreement, even blood oaths have their loopholes._

Hoggle thought silently to the King and gritted his jaw in firm determination. 

When Jareth unfurled his clenched digits, Hoggle saw that his Majesty was suddenly wearing a positively wicked-looking armored ring, upon his gloved pointer finger. It was all polished, winking silver and the sharp, pointed tip almost resembled the talon of a bird of prey; no mere coincidence, Hoggle was sure.

“Blood Oath? Why does that sound like it’s really, really unpleasant and probably a horrible idea,” Sarah remarked in a small, frightened voice; her face bleaching of color, as her wide eyes centered on the gleaming, sinister tip of Jareth’s ring.

The King gave a snort of amusement and flexed his ring-wearing hand, “Don’t tell me our bold, brave champion is afraid of a tiny prick of the skin?”

“I umm…may have a slight needle phobia and that looks a bit too much like a needle for comfort…wh-what does this entail exactly?” Sarah licked her lips nervously, looking as if she’d dearly love to make a break for it.

“It’s quite simple and relatively painless, I assure you. You allow me to prick your hand and draw just a tiny drop of blood. I do the same with my own hand. We clasp our hands together, so as to allow our blood to mingle. Then we each state a brief oath; swearing to uphold our respective ends of the bargain. And that, my dear, is all there is to it,” Jareth informed her in an off-handed manner.

The King then turned to the timid, little goblin, the one with the unruly puff of pink hair, who was often tasked with the laborious choir of polishing the Jareth’s royal boots; thus he never strayed far from the throne. 

In fact, Hoggle had observed that the quiet little boot polisher often sat tucked just under the throne’s tattered draperies, so that he could avoid a bogging by not being present whenever the mood for freshly-shined boots struck their tyrannical monarch.

Hoggle felt a twist of pity for the small goblin, down in the depths of his already nerve-churned gut. He also felt a sharp tinge of guilt that he couldn’t even rightly recall the little fellow’s name.

Knowing his name or not, Hoggle felt a sort of kinship with the boot polisher all the same. For the dwarf knew all too well what it meant to live in a constant state of fear and discomfort; at the precarious mercy of _The Rat’s_ rapidly shifting moods. 

It was a life unfit for even the vilest of creatures, much less a timid little rabbit of a soul, such as the boot polisher. Hoggle couldn’t recall an instance in the entirety of his time in the castle when he had ever heard the pink-haired goblin so much as utter a single syllable, seemingly much too afraid to say even a simple _“hello”_ to his fellow castle goblins.

Well, Hoggle supposed living one’s life hidden beneath a shabby drapery and often being soundly kicked whenever the King’s boots failed to gleam as brightly as elven gold, would do that to anyone.

“Hold this for me for a moment, will you? I expect it right back, so do **not** go anywhere,” Jareth ordered and handed the delicate necklace, over to the boot polisher’s waiting, grubby hands; which shook like a new sapling in a particularly rough wind.

 _Poor little lad. I’ll have to makes it a point to be kind to him. Maybe sneak him one of Weech’s special biscuits from time to time._  
Hoggle thought.

No creature alive could deny the temptation of Weech, the royal cook’s, special biscuits. Weech flavored the dough with a much-coveted and rare-growing berry, which could only be found in the early stirrings of spring, just on the outskirts of Jareth’s lands. When perfectly ripe, within the height of its season, the berry tasted like an explosion of sugary perfection upon the tongue.

So needless to say that flavoring her biscuits with the succulent morsels, made just about every being with a set of taste buds, want to plead on their knees for a single bite. Weech baked her biscuits to golden, flaky perfection and topped them with a heaping of rich berry-pink frosting, made from the very same fruit used to flavor the dough. 

Apparently the decadent confections were somewhat tricky to make, not to mention rare in production, due to scant amount of berries gathered every season. Thus the she-goblin cook reserved them for only her most favored of castle folk.

Luckily Hoggle found himself fortunate enough to be considered as such; ever since he’d taken the time to dig Weech up a few _cloud truffles_ for a special stew she'd been making for the King, a few months back.

Perhaps one of the scrumptious pastries would put a smile on the timid boot polisher’s round face? Hoggle made a mental note of it and stored it away for when the berry’s season came about, in a few months’ time. 

The old Hoggle, before he’d known the eye-opening blessing of Sarah’s friendship, wouldn’t have given a Nipper’s arse how frightened or unhappy the royal boot polisher seemed. Self-preservation had been the sole name of the game. The misery of another had been utterly inconsequential to him.

However, Sarah had shown him kindness and had awakened his once withered heart to the surprisingly glorious warmth of caring for others. The human girl had taught him just how priceless the gift of friendship really was, so Hoggle figured that it was the least he could do to extend that very same gift to another in need.

“Come, precious. I promise to be as gentle as possible,” the King beckoned to Sarah and held out a beseeching, gloved hand; effectively blasting through the mental fog of Hoggle’s thoughts. 

Sarah only eyed the Jareth warily and made no move to climb the last two steps of the dais, “First, tell me how this is more binding than a contract? There has to be more to it than it just being a bloodier and more ceremonial version of a verbal agreement.”

The Goblin King let out a small, almost irritated, sigh at her hesitancy and let his proffered hand drop to his lap.

“Very well, pet. A blood oath, here in the Underground, is probably one of the most binding pacts once can possibly make. You see, Fae blood contains magic. In this world, almost everything does; even words of promise have certain mystical qualities. When the magic of our shared blood and promised oaths combine, they shall create a force that will keep us both from straying from the rules of our bargain," Jareth informed her.

When Sarah only offered him a blank stare, the Goblin king continued.

“So, let us say that I entered into a blood oath with Hubble here and swore, in my oath, that I would never try to harm him physically …which is utterly preposterous. I would never enter into such an oath, because honestly sometimes the mere thought of giving the little cur a right-proper thrashing, puts a bit of a spring in my step,” Jareth chuckled merrily at his own joke.

Sarah only rolled her eyes, and Hoggle found himself mirroring the gesture.

_Yes, yes, the thought of doing me bodily harm makes yer heart happy. Yes, yes, we know!_

Hoggle sighed inwardly and briefly wondered if it was in fact, too late to change his decision to stay.

“So,” Jareth continued, looking just a bit put-out that no one had laughed along with him that time, “Let us say that after our pact was sealed, I attempted to throw Hibble out of a rather high window. The magic, created by our blood oath, would physically stop me from doing so. Anyone who enters into a blood oath will be literally unable to break it."

"Yet that is not to say the would-be offender, would suffer no consequences. Quite the contrary. There are laws within the Underground, regarding blood oaths. You see, Precious, when one attempts to break a blood oath, the oath itself will _out_ them, regardless of their lack of success; just the attempt is enough.”

“The oath-breakers right hand will stain a ghastly blood-red; so all who behold them will know of their misdeed. By Fae law, oath-breakers can be punished all the way up to a death sentence; if the wronged party in said oath so wishes it." 

"It is always left to the wronged party to decide the oath-breakers fate, but I assure you; all punishments regarding attempts to break a blood-oath are both swift and ultimately final. So when I say that a blood oath is much more binding than a simple contract written on paper, I mean it with the utmost sincerity,” Jareth informed her.

“That sounds crazy! Why the hell would I want to enter into an agreement where I could be punished by death?” Sarah gawked at the King incredulously.

 _The Rat_ arched his upswept brows practically up to his hairline and let out a long, exasperated sigh, “Really, pet? Do you truly think me so barbaric as to snuff out your life? Did I **not** just inform you of how I protected you in the Labyrinth? Did I somehow fail to make it clear that I never wish any such harm to befall you?"

"I want you to be a great many things, Sarah Williams; queen, my eternal companion and _one day_ , the mother of my offspring…but _deceased_ is not one of those things. Do not mistake me, if you try and cheat me, there shall be consequences; like a good swatting to your defiant little backside and perhaps a night or two in the solitary confinement of an oubliette, but certainly nothing as dire as death.”

“If you attempt something as foolish as trying to break your oath, your official punishment will be an automatic forfeit; whatever remainder of time our bargain has left, will be inconsequential. You will instantly become my queen and cast aside your humanity. Am I making myself absolutely clear?” Jareth asked, in the clipped manner of someone whose patience had all but dried up.

“Oh, I understand you just fine. Now I hope I’m making myself _perfectly clear_ ; **when** I win, I expect you to leave me alone. No more poking around my world, no more spying, no more games; **nothing**. As far as you will be concerned, Sarah Williams won’t even exist. You will leave me, my family and my friends, totally alone," Sarah began.

"Sir Didymus, Ambrosius, Ludo, and Hoggle will all be allowed to visit me, in my world, whenever they like, and you will allow it, with zero retaliation or pettiness. If you try and cheat **me** then **you** will automatically forfeit; the game will be done, once and for all."

"You will never bother me again; not in owl form, man form, or any other. Got it? Also, if you ever try to _swat_ me, you’ll be pulling back nothing but a stump where your hand use to be,” she growled.

Jareth only laughed. Despite all of Sarah’s bluster and posturing, the King had her right where he wanted her, and he utterly relished it.

“Ah, but you have such a fiery spirit, dearest. It truly is a pity I shall have to tame it; it can be quite amusing, but a queen must learn the importance of deferring to her king,” Jareth replied with a gleam of satisfaction burning flame-bright in his unnerving eyes.

For what could have easily been the millionth time, in the past six months, Hoggle fervently wished he had enough gumption (and the height) to punch _The Rat_ square in his big, beaked nose. 

Sarah made a snort of distaste, “In your dreams, pal. So are we doing this or not? I expect you to promise to all of the terms, I just mentioned, in your oath. Including what happens if you should try to go back on your end of the deal. I also expect you to go first, so I can make sure you’re not pulling a fast one. If you don’t, then no dice and I’m walking.”

“It seems that you expect a great deal. Why am a not surprised? Very well, being as none of this is consequential anyway, because I will **not** be the losing party; I will humor you and pledge to honor your little list of greedy demands. Come,” Jareth retorted and held his hand out to her once more.

“My lady, art thou certain? Tis is not an endeavor one should venture into lightly,” Sir Didymus warned.

Sarah nodded, “If five years is the price I have to pay to have **him** out of my life, once and for all and to be able to see you guys whenever I want…then yeah, I’m certain.”

Her voice was clear and infused with raw resolve, but Hoggle took note of how her hands continued to tremble at her sides.

“Sarah, listen. You don’t gotta’ do this. Like I told ya before, this ain’t your fight. You can just turn around and leave. None of us would hold it against you,” Hoggle clenched one of her shaking hands in his; silently praying that she’d miraculously come to her senses.

“No Hoggle. I **do** have to do this. It’s the only way to get everything completely resolved. Even if I walk away now, he’ll only turn up again and find another way to complicate my life. This is the only real way out that I can see. Even if it is playing the long game, at least there’s a definite end set,” Sarah sighed.

Hoggle hated to admit it, but she had a solid point. Jareth wouldn’t ever just let her be, not unless something bound him to do so. This was her best bet. In the meantime, he’d try and search out a way for her to get out of her promise early. If there were a way to do so, he’d find it. Swallowing hard, Hoggle nodded and released Sarah’s hand.

“Yeah…do what you gotta’ do,” Hoggle muttered sadly, feeling positively heartsick that he factored into her getting caught up in her current predicament.

“Ser-wah okay?” Ludo ventured, noticing how distressed she seemed, despite her trying her damnedest to put on a brave face.

“Yeah Ludo,” Sarah forced a smile at her gargantuan friend, “I’ll be fine.”

Without further delay, Sarah climbed the last two steps of the dais and put her hand in Jareth’s outstretched grasp, her haste announcing her desire to get it all over with. The second Sarah’s hand touched the King’s leather-clad palm, his fingers closed around her like an unyielding snare.

With a quick, deft yank, Sarah was pulled off her feet and into to the lap of the Goblin King; causing the assemblage to once again burst into a volley of gasps and muttered declarations of surprise. Hoggle too found himself issuing a hiss of alarm from between his weathered lips.

“Ugh! What are you doing?!” Sarah gasped in outrage and tried to wiggle free, but Jareth’s arms had already banded around her waist; holding her firmly in place.

“Oh stop putting up such a bloody fuss. The dais is much too small for us to both be standing at once, and you were blocking the way down. So, clearly, this was the most viable solution,” Jareth drawled, with smirk.

“But you can teleport! You could have just appeared behind me!” Sarah cried and again tried to squirm free, but Jareth’s arms held fast.

“A pithy detail, precious. Let’s just get it over with, shall we? The more you fuss, the longer this will all take,” Jareth told her, his voice all clam rationality, but his eyes blazed with that now familiar possessive glint.

It was the sort of look that made Hoggle’s gut clench with dread and had him considering a charge up the steps of the dais.

Yet a consideration was all it was. The practical part of Hoggle, the one that wanted to stay amongst the living, chimed-in that such an impulsive act was probably not a very bright idea. Sir Didymus however, apparently had no such inner part that dismissed not-very-bright ideas, and if he did, apparently it was broken and had been as such for a very long time.

“My lady! Art thou in need of assistance? I shall challenge the King to a duel! He is behaving in a most undignified and cad-like manner! Unhand the maiden at once, Sire! Or I shall be forced to smite thee! One does not just go about grabbing maidens willy-nilly! It is **most** unseemly!” Didymus growled and began to ascend the dais, brandishing his ornate mace, “Worry not, my lady! I shall defend thine honor!”

“Didymus, get back here!” Hoggle scrambled behind his friend and made a graceless grab for the Fox knight’s tunic.

However, Hoggle missed his mark entirely and his stubby fingers closed on nothing but air. 

“That will be quite enough from you. Go calm yourself for a moment, while your betters finish attending to their business,” Jareth frowned down at the feisty little fox and lifted one of his hands from his grip upon Sarah’s waist.

With a flick of the Goblin King’s fingers, sir Didymus vanished into thin air.

“Where brother?” Ludo asked, his large, brown eyes becoming wide with fright.

“What did you do?! Where is he?!” Sarah gasped at the Goblin King, her eyes blazing green fire, “You better not have hurt him!”

_Oh great…now Didymus has probably been bogged…wonderful..._

Hoggle heaved a heart-heavy sigh and again questioned his own sanity for not jumping at the out _The Rat_ had offered him earlier.

Ambrosias let out a low, kneeing whine of distress at his master’s abrupt disappearance and Hoggle moved to give the dog a comforting pat on the head.

_Gods, I hope Didymus is alright. Stupid fool. What was he thinkin’? Got more bravery than sense. Been tellin’ him that cowards live longer. He just wouldn’t listen._

“No need to fret, dearest. I merely sent him to an oubliette for but a moment, just until we conclude our business. You know very well how he gets once he’s worked himself into a lather. A few moments of quiet will do him a world of good. You have my word that I will release him the second we are finished,” Jareth assured Sarah in an off-hand and easy manner, as if he were only commenting on the weather. 

Hoggle let out a pent-up breath of relief. Upon hearing Jareth’s words, Ludo too visibly relaxed. The massive beast then plopped unceremoniously to the floor, so as to comfort and pat Ambrosius, who still seemed uneasy at his master’s jarring disappearance.

Hoggle knew all too well that the Goblin King wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming of folks, but his words, although carelessly delivered, rang undeniably true. Sarah was the one being Hoggle had never known the King to blatantly feed lies to, as if they were a bowl of sugared dates at his banquet table. 

Sure Jareth had given Sarah half-truths aplenty and had stealthily concealed certain facts from her, with an outright boast-worthy level of skill. Hoggle couldn't recall a single instance where the Goblin King had directly lied to the girl. So he relaxed just the tiniest bit and took immense comfort knowing his irritating, overly-valiant friend would be returned to him shortly. 

“What? It’s one of the posher oubliettes, I assure you. It has lanterns for him to see by; even a bench for him to wait on and there’s absolutely no trace of damp or rot. Personally, I thought I was rather accommodating,” Jareth remarked, sounding a bit put-out when Sarah only gawked at him with the wide, incredulous eyes of someone who has been well and thoroughly shocked by the audacity of another.

“Just go on and start this oath thing. Let’s get it over with, then you bring him **right back**. Do you hear me?” Sarah hissed.

“Very well precious, I am ever your humble slave,” Jareth replied with a sardonic smirk.

Sarah only rolled her eyes in response, which the King, of course, chose to blatantly ignore. With a flip of his ringless hand, Jareth’s glove vanished into the ether, leaving his right hand bare. 

“You will all bear witness,” the King informed his assemblage in a manner that practically oozed authority and the unrelenting demand for respect. “On this day, I Jareth, King of the Goblin Realm, make a blood oath to Sarah Williams, from the world above. With my blood, I shall make this pact; with her blood, I shall seal it.”

With those words Jareth brought his hands together, around Sarah. This movement pressed her closer to the King, caging her within the circle of his arms. Hoggle took an uneasy inner note of how the girl’s cheeks stained a glowing crimson once again. Her protests against the unexpected seating arrangement had also quieted entirely.

Instead, Sarah only sat there, perched upon the Goblin King’s knees, as if she’d always sat there with him in that manner; as if she belonged there, watching Jareth’s movements in silent, rapt fascination.

His Majesty brought the gleaming tip of his armored ring to the bare palm of his hand and pressed until a well of scarlet bloomed beneath the metal talon, without so much as a hiss of pain from the monarch’s lips. Silently, the Goblin King held up his weeping hand for all to see, and once again, the throne room became laden with the feeling of unspoken expectation and hushed excitement. 

“Your turn, precious thing,” The King murmured against the shell of Sarah’s ear; so soft and low that Hoggle would have undoubtedly missed the utterance if he hadn’t been standing so near the throne.

The dwarf nearly winced at the way Sarah’s eyes fluttered closed when Jareth’s lips brushed against her skin.

_Gods help me, how am I spose’ to save her, when I ain’t so certain she even wants to be saved?!_

The King then cupped the back of Sarah’s right hand, within his bleeding palm. Jareth turned the girl's hand upward, ever so gently, his eyes too falling closed for just the briefest of seconds. A small, hushed sigh, of what Hoggle guessed to be contentment, rushed from the Goblin King’s parted lips.

It was as if Jareth were savoring every brush of Sarah's skin against his own; relishing every single feather-light touch in silent, almost worshipful, reverence. To say the sight they made caused Hoggle to feel extremely uncomfortable, was putting it mildly. 

As if rousing himself from a deep slumber, Jareth opened his suddenly glazed eyes and gave his head a slight shake. Without pausing a second longer, the King brought the tip of his ring to the pink flesh of Sarah’s upturned palm and pressed down. The girl’s eyes flew open as the metal talon pierced her skin; a small gasp of alarm spilling from her mouth.

“Ssh dearest, it’s alright. Just a wee sting. See? All finished,” Jareth cooed gently to her and even went so far as to bring the knuckles of Sarah’s bleeding hand, up to his lips; brushing a gentle kiss across them in a baffling display of tenderness. 

If Hoggle hadn’t feared swift retribution for doing so, he might have asked the King if he were feeling alright. The dwarf couldn’t readily recall a single past instance where he had witnessed his Majesty behaving so gently with another being before.

Jareth was the king known for kicking his own goblins as if they were unwanted sacks of rubbish and bogging anyone who dared so much as look at him cross-eyed. The current display taking place upon the throne was most certainly **not** within the realm of normal behavior for _The Rat_. 

Hoggle shot a quick glance behind himself and confirmed his sudden inkling; that the rest of the assemblage was just as shocked as he, by the King’s somewhat uncharacteristic behavior. Goblins and courtiers alike stood about, wide-eyed and gob-smacked.

Hoggle probably would have found their reaction downright hysterical, if he himself hadn’t been so unnerved. Even Sarah appeared to be startled by Jareth’s actions; her lips parted in a perfect **O** of shock.

Hoggle supposed that the girl was probably more flabbergasted than anyone, being as the King always seemed to get a great amount of enjoyment from taunting her. 

Yet something far different than surprise and bewilderment danced and glinted within the depths of Sarah’s eyes, as she watched Jareth’s mouth brush against her hand. Excitement, delight, joy and a generous amount of complete and utter yearning, mingled and melded within her unwavering stare.

Jareth, of course, took immediate notice of the manner in which the girl was regarding him. Of course, the way the King returned her wordless praise and excitement (his mismatched eyes mirroring back all the same silent sentiments), didn’t at all escape Hoggle’s vigilant and ever-discerning gaze.

_Trouble! This is all a fat lot of trouble with a capital T!_

Hoggle groused silently; gnawing on his lower lip, as the ever-mounting ball of dread and panic brewing within the quivering pit of his stomach began to make him feel positively light-headed. 

“Ready, precious? Place your palm on mine,” the King murmured to Sarah.

Jareth then took his hand from hers (with evident reluctance), so as to hold his punctured hand up, palm flat, before her. 

Sarah gave a wordless nod, the invisible tie of she and Jareth’s joined gazes holding fast, as she placed her bleeding palm to that of the Goblin King’s. Then as their flesh made contact and their blood mingled and became one, something very odd happened; something Hoggle had an extremely dire feeling was yet another portent of further complication in an already overly complicated and troublesome situation.

Both Sarah and the King let out a gasping hiss of alarm, as their weeping palms met. As quick and rapid as the beat of a pixie’s wing, a bright golden flash erupted from where their hands joined. Before Hoggle could even so much as blink in wonder at the dazzling beacon, it was gone.

_“What was that?”_

_“Did you see it?”_

_“What happened?”_

_“Do you know?”_

_“I’ve never seen anything like that happen during a blood oath before.”_

_“Most unusual!”_

_“What do you suppose it means?”_

Came the confused gasps and mutters from the Gentry.

_“The peach lady gots powerful hoodoo!_

_“Did she just hex Kingy?”_

_“Dunno! Run! Peach Lady will destroy everything again!”_

_“Peach Lady will hex us all!”_

_“She’ll turns our mothers to goats!”_

_“But…me likes goats…they gots such sweet meats…”_

Came the nonsensical and panicked yammering from the goblins, as some of them tried to beat a hasty retreat.

“ **Stop!** ” Jareth roared his bellowing command, “If any of you so much as stick a bony, little toe out of this room, you’ll be bogged within a blink!”

Those shouted, threat-laden words stopped the would-be deserters cold in their tracks; some even knocked into each other; toppling comically to the floor in a wide-eyed heap.

“Did…did you feel that?” Sarah gasped, her gaze firmly affixed to Jareth; seemingly oblivious to the goblins’ antics altogether.

“Yes, dearest. I did,” the Goblin King murmured and reverted his attention to her once more, an unnamable emotion dancing bright within his eyes.

“It was kind of like an electrical charge…like the time I first touched you, when you were an owl…but this time…it was like I felt it in every cell and fiber of my being. I still kinda feel it, it’s like it’s pulsating between us; like a heartbeat or something. Weird…” Sarah let out a shaky breath; her wide gaze fixating upon where their hands still joined, “I thought I saw this flash of light for a second. Wha-what does it mean? Do you know?”

Jareth paused, for a long moment, as if considering how best to answer.

“I’m not entirely certain what it means, precious. I **do** know, however, that this isn’t a typical occurrence during a blood oath,” Jareth replied, and Hoggle was further unnerved by just how shaken the Goblin King seemed.

“S-something happened…Jareth, I just don’t know what…and it’s still happening. I still feel it…what in the world…?” Sarah trailed off, her eyes boring into the King’s and even though His Majesty looked fairly dazed himself, it didn’t keep the satisfied grin from his lips, when the girl used his actual name for the first time.

“Whatever it is, it was meant to be. Of that I am certain,” the Goblin King murmured, lacing his fingers through hers, pulling her closer, until there was but a sliver of space between them.

Much to Hoggle’s chagrin, Sarah allowed the King to gather her close; all traces of fight and resistance seemingly absent for the time being. She and _The Rat_ said nothing more to one another, as if instead of using words, they were having some silent conversation with the lingering looks of varying emotions that played upon their faces, like a soundless symphony of expression.

It was as if they were suddenly under the impression that all the other inhabitants of the throne room had simply ceased to exist and they were alone in a world of their own making. 

It was probably one of the most intimate sights Hoggle had ever witnessed, and that was indeed saying something. Considering that over the previous six months, he had walked in on his Majesty in various stages of undress, while the King had been _entertaining_ trollops in his chambers, more times than Hoggle cared to think on.

This, however, was something of an entirely different nature than those sweaty, unfeeling displays he had been involuntarily privy to. Whatever it was, Hoggle knew it was definitely a strange and powerful magic he couldn’t even begin to understand, nor did he have the slightest desire to do so. 

The whole matter made the dwarf’s skin crawl with unease and the way the King began to stare at Sarah’s mouth (as if it were a particularly scrumptious looking confectionary and he was a man on the brink of starvation), didn’t help matters any.

No, Sarah was far too young and innocent to be trapped in the Underground, at the mercy of someone like Jareth. The Goblin King was a maudlin madman, capable of mentally unhinging at any moment. Sarah belonged with a mortal male of her same years; the sort of fellow who would be nothing but kind and patient with her, instead of forever entangling her in a never-ending game of cat and mouse.

_The Rat_ had her backed into a corner, so to speak and Hoggle could see no way to make her come to her senses and simply leave, but he would be damned if he stood back and simply let Jareth do whatever he pleased. 

“Errr…yer Majesty, shouldn’t you resume the rites of the blood oath?” Hoggle asked, his voice cracking, despite his best efforts.

The look the King leveled at him probably would have melted the flesh right from Hoggle’s bones, had Jareth put any of his power behind the blazing, heart-halting stare. Hoggle suddenly found himself silently thanking the powers that be, for his good fortune in having Sarah as a friend. 

The dwarf did not doubt that if it weren’t for her, he more than likely would have been writhing in magic-induced agony just then.

“Yeah…I guess we should get this moving, right?” Sarah agreed, blinking as if rousing herself from a daze and hastily pulled her face back from the close proximity of Jareth’s.

“Very well then,” His Majesty conceded, in the sort of clipped tone that belied his barely-checked irritation and Hoggle noted that the King made no move to relax his grip on Sarah’s hand or the firm hold he had upon her waist; possessively anchoring the girl to his lap. 

With no further hesitation, the Goblin King turned his focus to his assembled subjects and raised his voice to a booming volume that demanded nothing short of their complete and undivided attention.

“With the sharing of our blood, I vow to honor the demands that Sarah Williams has set and swear to do the following; I vow to adhere to the agreed upon duration of five years’ time, in which our pact will be active. During that time, I will neither harm nor threaten the friends of Sarah Williams; Ludo the rock caller, the knight known as Sir Didymus…even… _Hoggle the dwarf_ ,” the King ground that last part out with the expression of one who had just been asked to eat a handful of Nipper shite.

Hoggle snorted and inwardly. At least _The Rat_ had said his name right, for once. Upon hearing the Goblin King’s particular choice of words, Sarah gave an overly-loud clearing of her throat and looked to be giving his Majesty a none-too-friendly poke of her elbow to his ribs. 

“Very well…I vow to **never** harm or threaten Ludo the rock caller, Sir Didymus, the knight…and even, my lowly valet known as _Hoggle the dwarf_ ,” Jareth grumbled, casting Sarah a petulant side glance.

“I also hereby vow never to involve, harm, threaten or otherwise visit ill-will, upon any member of Sarah’s family, as well as her friends and acquaintances.”

“And…” Sarah prompted pointedly.

Jareth let out a weary sigh, “I also vow to use no trickery in my quest to convince Sarah Williams to take her place by my side. If I fail to do so, I shall henceforth forfeit our pact, and she shall be free of any and all obligation regarding this agreement.”

Again came another load throat clearing from Sarah.

“Sarah Williams is also hereby granted unlimited access to her aforementioned friends starting immediately. So it is vowed, and so it shall be,” Jareth grumbled with a roll of his mismatched eyes.

“So it is vowed, and so it shall be,” chorused the assemblage, as per the protocol of such things.

“Happy?” Jareth sighed at the girl.

“Somewhat. I’d be happier if this weren’t happening at all, but I guess, given the circumstances, this isn’t half bad,” Sarah replied with a cheeky grin.

“Outstanding,” Jareth responded in a manner that informed her that he found it anything but. “Now then, pet, it is your turn.”

“Oh…okay…ummm…” Sarah stammered, apparently unsure of how to go about wording herself.

With that, the King leaned in and began murmuring in her ear; doubtlessly prompting her on just what to say

After a lengthy pause, Sarah began; parroting _The Rat’s_ whispered words with evident unease, “With the sharing of our blood…I Sarah William’s, from the world above…agree to honor the promises I have made to Jareth, King of the Goblin Realm."

"I will adhere to our agreement…and return to the Underground every three months…for the duration of two weeks each visit, for a sum total of five years. My penance…should I fail to keep my end of this pact…will mean an instant forfeit…and that I will turn away from life in the Aboveground and…take my place as the Goblin Queen…at the King’s side. With the blood of the King…the pact is made…with my blood it is sealed. So it is vowed…and so it shall be,” Sarah finished awkwardly.

“So it is vowed, and so it shall be,” the assemblage chorused once again; the echo of their unison voices rippling throughout the throne room, with an eerie tone of finality that sent a ripple of unease all throughout Hoggle’s being.

_Gods help us now…_

“Is that it? It’s done?” Sarah turned to the King and Hoggle noticed that her hands were trembling once again. 

Hoggle knew he had to get her out soon. This was all just too much for her. She needed to go home and process it all. With just a few stammered sentences, Sarah’s life had taken a sharp turn from the rosy path in which it had been headed.

Moving forward, Sarah's world would be rife with countless obstacles. Well, just one obstacle really, Hoggle thought, as he silently regarded Jareth, his lip involuntarily curling with distaste. 

“Yes, dearest. It is done. Just one thing further…” Jareth abruptly snapped his fingers at the cowering boot polisher, causing the poor lad to all but jump clean out of his skin.

Recovering quickly, the pink-haired goblin jumped to attention and scurried over; eagerly depositing the necklace within Jareth’s outstretched palm, looking all-too-pleased to be rid of the thing, as he then darted back into the shielding safety of the throne’s dust-covered drapery.

“Here you are,” the King murmured to Sarah; reluctantly taking his hand from hers, so as to slip the glimmering chain over her head. 

Once the fragile-looking bauble was in place about her neck, the dewdrop-like stone gave off a brief flash of blue light. Hoggle’s eyes narrowed in immediate suspicion. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who found the adornment’s sudden light show to be alarming. 

“What the hell was that?” Sarah demanded; frowning down at the necklace with blatant mistrust. 

Her hands instantly flew to the chain, as if to remove it, but the King gripped her wrists, immediately stilling her panicked actions.

“Calm yourself, Sarah. There is no need to get all worked up, although you’ve always been prone to dramatics,” _The Rat_ grinned.

“The flash you saw simply means that the charm has been activated and is now working to do what it was created for, protecting your humanity from the intrusive magic of this world,” the King informed her airily.

A long look passed between them and Hoggle hadn’t the faintest clue what the girl was searching for, as her gaze bore into Jareth’s. Whatever it was, she seemed to have found it, when at last she nodded and visibly relaxed.

“Fine. If we’re all finished here, then I’d like you to bring Didymus back, as promised,” Sarah, informed him, suddenly all brisk business.

All traces of the girl’s previous wonderment, vulnerability, and confusion, were securely tucked away once more, behind her favored mask of cheeky bravado.

“Very well. Although, why one would voluntarily ask that the yammering little blighter be returned, once they have known a true moment’s peace away from his incessant prattling, is beyond me,” Jareth gave a regret-laden sigh and with a quick flourish of his hand, Sir Didymus was once again standing before the throne.

“Ah ha! So thou hath chosen to stop cowering behind thine magic and face me man to man! Have at thee, defiler of maidens!” Sir Didymus bellowed at the King, once again waving his mace in challenge.

Hoggle only let out a belabored sigh of exasperation.

_Gods help me! He never learns!_

Fortunately, Sarah was primed to defuse the fox knight’s bout of overly-chivalrous melodrama. She promptly jumped from the Goblin King’s lap, to scurry down the stairs of the dais and crouched before the riled little warrior, efficiently blocking off Didymus’ only route to _The Rat_.

Sarah had been so completely focused on getting to Sir Didymus, before the furry fool got himself into even more trouble with the King, that she had entirely failed to notice the way Jareth’s hands had automatically reached out to snatch her back, as she’d unexpectedly leaped from his embrace. 

Unbeknownst to Sarah, she’d been just the tiniest bit too quick for his Majesty, and the Goblin King’s grasping fingers has closed upon nothing but air. Sarah had also missed the look of what could only be described as a raw mingling of desperation and frantic remorse, which had flared brightly within the King’s eyes as she ran from his arms. Sarah had missed all this, but Hoggle’s jaundiced eye had not.

The dwarf observed every tiny detail of Jareth’s behavior. He mentally cataloged it within the recesses of his now calculating mind, just in case the King’s strange actions led to some a clue as to how to get Sarah out of the mess in which she had become recently embedded.

It never hurt to be ever-observant and always on guard; a little tip to which Hoggle attributed to the fact that he was still breathing and whole, under the reign of an ill temped tyrant.

The standing fact that Hoggle was reasonably clever (no matter how _The Rat_ might declare otherwise), had seen him out of countless sticky situations. So help him, Hoggle vowed that whatever cleverness he had within his mental possession, would see Sarah out of hers own predicament.

“Hush now Didymus! No one has… _defiled_ me,” Sarah assured the riled fox knight, her cheeks pinking once again, “I’m fine. I promise.”

“So His Majesty the King, has not taken any… _undignified liberties_ with you, my lady?” Sir Didymus questioned in an unexpectedly calm and collected manner, that is until he began speaking again and his voice ratcheted up an octave with every word he uttered; “For if he has… **I shall smite him within an inch of his miserable li-** ” 

“I said hush!” Sarah grumbled between gritted teeth as she reached out and clamped a silencing hand upon Didymus’ yapping muzzle. 

A burst of deep, baritone laughter erupted from the throne behind them, and Didymus answered Jareth’s evident amusement at his expense with a low, menacing growl from within his throat. 

“Stop that! Everything is fine. My business is concluded here, so be the chivalrous knight you are and escort me back to the gateway, okay?” Sarah looked down at Sir Didymus with wide, pleading, damsel-esque eyes. 

Hoggle watched as his furry, overly-gallant friend’s puffed-up chest deflated and the little knight gave a reluctant nod, “Very well, my lady…if thou art certain that the King did nothing to endanger your virtue…”

“No _virtues_ were ever endangered,” Sarah assured the fox knight.

Hoggle found himself suddenly thankful for the convenience of the girl blocking Didymus’ view of _The Rat_. The King sat smirking on his throne, like a contented cat who had just lapped up a saucer of cream. Jareth's expression broadcasted that Sarah grossly exaggerated the safety of said virtue, while she had been seated upon his royal lap.

“Errr…uh, I’ll walk ya back too!” Hoggle volunteered all too eagerly, desperate for an excuse to leave the King’s oily presence before he too did something stupid and tried to challenge him, just as Didymus had done.

“Okay, cool,” Sarah beamed a grateful smile at the dwarf, as she got to her feet, “You coming too Ludo?”

“Ludo walk Ser-Wah,” the beast nodded in agreement and hefted his seated bulk to a standing position.

“We’re done here, right?” Sarah turned to Jareth, her shoulders going back and her spine becoming ramrod straight, as if bracing herself for another fight.

The Goblin King merely tilted his unruly, golden head to the side and regarded her for a long moment; the amused grin from before was still securely plastered to his lips, as if he found the entire matter to be nothing but an entertaining lark.

Yet his Majesty couldn’t quite disguise the hint of ravenous desperation that flickered within his eyes, like a guttering flame. Nor could the King seem to still his hands from rapidly clenching and unclenching at his sides, as if he were willing himself to resist from reaching out to her.

“Yes. We are quite finished. You may go. I shall call for you in one month’s time, when your first visit shall commence,” _The Rat_ informed her in an overly flippant tone and gave her a dismissive flick of his non-gloved hand.

Oh how the King was trying much too hard, Hoggle observed with a secretive smirk. Jareth could heap on all the false bravado he could muster, but the strain (which hung about his mouth), and the silent struggle within his mismatched gaze, was ill-hidden.

at least it was to someone who was really looking; someone who had memorized each and every one of His Majesty’s _tells_ , via months of close proximity. At least being Jareth’s whipping boy had been good for something. 

Sarah gave the King a curt nod and turned unceremoniously towards the exit, only to abruptly whirl on her heels half a second later and regard His Majesty with a bewildering, heady mix of emotions dancing across her young face.

“Can I ask you something, Jareth?” Sarah asked, her voice cracking on the King’s actual name.

“Yes?” The Goblin King arched an upward-swept brow; still trying far too hard to appear calm and collected.

“Why me?” the question tumbled from Sarah’s lips in a manner that suggested that she had been struggling to withhold the inquiry for quite some time.

Another pregnant pause stretched on, and the King seemed to be once again inwardly contemplating how best to answer her. Hoggle found it immensely interesting that such a simple question seemed to be so very loaded for His Majesty and he couldn’t help but wonder exactly why that was.

With a low, lingering sigh, which bore just the tiniest hint of remorse, Jareth finally answered; “Because you are **you** , precious…because you are you.”

For a brief second, Sarah looked as if she might want to challenge that vague wisp of an answer; her mouth opening, only to close again; having thought the better of it. With another clipped nod of her head, she finally turned and made her way up the stone steps and out of the throne room. Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus (astride Ambrosius) followed at her back. 

As the small group silently made their way to the royal portrait chamber and back to the Gateway, Hoggle couldn’t help but notice that Sarah kept staring down at her punctured palm. She flexed it, as she intently studied the small, red mark that had just bound her, by blood, under oath to the Goblin King.

Hoggle watched her regard the telling brand with a grim sort of rapt fascination. Sarah seemed disturbed and worried (as she should be), but hiding just under that veneer of expected regret, Hoggle thought he glimpsed something truly unsettling; the faint spark of excitement. 

_Oh Sarah…I hope you know exactly what ya got yourself into…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits and sources:
> 
> Nippers- The nasty little gremlin things with sharp, pointy teeth that the Nipper Guards carry around on sticks and use as weapons (from the scene in the film where Sarah meets Ludo.) More info found [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284662964905/).
> 
> Biting Bog Fly- Essentially the Labyrinth's version of a mosquito and can consume five times its weight in blood, in one feeding. More info found [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284662964908/). 
> 
> Tallow Goblins- (mentioned on page 8 of Brian Froud's _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ ) Described as a particularly vicious breed of goblin whom would _"cut their own granny open, stuff her, and use her as a sofa."_
> 
> Racing Goblins- (mentioned on page 22 of _The goblins of Labyrinth_ ) Described as being an overly amorous breed of goblin, that will mate with practically anything that moves. They are also said to have a particularly amusing sexual trait, which I will address in future chapters, because it's that hilarious. 
> 
> Gurdy the Burnisher- (mentioned on pages 61 and 64 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ ) A she-goblin seller of polished and restored goods, found in the rubbish piles (shown in the movie) by scavenger goblins; like the hag who tried to trap Sarah in the replica of her bedroom, in the film.
> 
> Weech- (mentioned on page 86 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ ) The she-goblin royal cook.


	7. Of Packing, Disturbing Dreams, and Reviled Works of "Art"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before her first visit to the Underground, since the blood oath, Sarah packs an over crammed suitcase and reflects upon her personal relationships and why things have panned out the way they have. Oh and of course, being that her life is now entangled with the Goblin King, weirdness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus everyone! Being a mother of two is a pretty demanding job. Especially when one of those kiddos is in sports. Thanks for your patience! *Throws copious amounts of glitter and this long chapter at ya*  
> <3 <3 <3

* * *

_Hush- the stars have come to visit. One has a song for you. Can you hear its melody in her wing-whispered lullaby?_  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p.140)_

* * *

_~Late January- One month later~_

Sarah huffed out a sigh of red-faced, straining effort, as she shoved the last of her things in her already overstuffed and ultra-fancy, alligator skin suitcase; the one her mom had given her the year before. Linda had promised that a forthcoming mother/daughter trip to Paris would be the ridiculous piece of luggage’s maiden voyage.

Instead, her mother had taken off to Morocco with her latest piece of filthy-rich man-candy, for over a month. When Linda had finally returned, preparation for a flashy, brand-new role had been on the forefront of her mind and the Paris trip was completely forgotten.

It seemed utterly surreal to Sarah that instead of Paris, the Goblin Realm would be the first destination the suitcase would ever be taken.

_Who needs another country, when you can visit a whole other world!_

Sarah smirked to herself, feeling all the more ridiculous with every passing second.

She had all but burst into a fit of tear-riddled, hysteric giggles when she’d realized that she had nearly forgotten to pack her toothbrush and her first thought had been:  
_“Oops! Can’t forget that! They might not have these at the Goblin Castle!”_

The whole thing was beyond ludicrous. A normal girl her age would be packing for a sleepover at her best friend’s house, or a family vacation. Instead, there she was, packing for a trip to a fairytale world; as per the stipulation of a blood oath made with a Goblin King, who wanted to make her his queen! 

_My life has become beyond freaky!_

Then again, she supposed certain aspects of her now utterly abnormal existence were kind of cool…in a _Twilight Zone_ kinda way. The part where she had friends from a magical realm, was pretty awesome, to say the least, and every fairytale-junkie’s dream come true.

The part where she had to deal with the manipulative, arrogant king of said magical realm dwelling friends, however, that was decidedly less than awesome. Sarah inwardly reflected, that if she were truly honest with herself, she had to admit that the last part was only partially true. 

No matter how the logical part of her screamed, hoarse-voiced within her skull, that Jareth was trouble, she couldn’t quite shake the giddy thrill that danced an elated rhythm all throughout her being, whenever her traitorous thoughts wandered to the bizarre encounter in the throne room.

_Precious…_

_Darling…_

_Dearest…_

Her heart did strange little flip-flops within the confining cage of her ribs, whenever she recalled the endearments that had spilled so freely from the Goblin King’s lips. Not only had he called her those things, but he had told her that he _wanted_ her. He had declared that he would stop at nothing to win her over; to make her his queen.

No matter how Sarah tried to suppress it, a fizzing sense of elation bubbled up inside her, whenever she considered those pulse-pounding facts. It hadn’t all been a lie after all; at least not the part where Jareth had looked at her with such unabashed adoration when they’d waltzed together in that weird little bubble world. It seemed that bit had been real after all.

_But you know good and well that things aren’t always what they seem…_

That spiteful inner voice of doubt-riddled reason, the one that was so very apt at raining on metaphorical parades, scolded her. 

_Oh come on Sarah, he only wants you to marry him because it would somehow benefit him…it’s the Goblin King after all. When doesn’t he have an ace up his sleeve? He did all but say it was a power move. He even said loving him wasn’t necessary. If he wanted you in that way, love wouldn’t be optional. You know that._

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing her inner sense of reason to shut the hell up and give her a moment’s peace; a moment to dream. 

_But he never mentioned anything about not loving me…just said I didn’t have to love him._

Sarah issued the stubborn, silent reply to her own annoyingly realistic logic. 

_He didn’t mention loving you because he doesn’t; simple as that. Dreaming otherwise is dangerous. It’s already made you mess-up!_

Sarah’s cheeks heated with the crimson flush of shame, as she recalled her sloppy haggling in Jareth’s throne room, a month prior.

_“In your dreams! Two years!”_

_“Six!” Jareth had countered._

_“Five!” She had impulsively snarled back; her brain suddenly absent from the heated exchange altogether._

Later that day, when Sarah had returned to the welcome quiet of her room, she had plopped down on her bed, utterly drained. She had then mentally sifted through every minute detail of the bizarre audience with the Goblin King, in her weary mind.

Then it had hit her, like a bullet blast right between the eyes. She had served him up three extra years on a freaking silver platter! She could have stood her ground for the duration of her visits running only two years.

She could have even negotiated to three. That would have been the logical next step. However, she’d leaped right to five without even thinking! She’d been so worked-up, that she hadn’t even noticed until it had all been over! 

Even now, presently recalling how colossally stupid she’d been, sent her stomach bottoming out and her entire body cringing with bitter, regret-swirled embarrassment, for what was probably the ten-millionth time since she’d realized her little slip-up. 

_Nope! Not going there this time! It’s not going to do any good to beat myself up again. I just have to keep a clear head from now on. Yup, just keep a clear head and focus. I can do this!_

Sarah’s traitorous mind instantly dredged up the memory of what it had been like to sit upon Jareth’s lap; enclosed within the protective band of his arms; how disturbingly right it had felt. It should have felt uncomfortable. It **should** have felt all wrong. She and the Goblin King weren’t even of the same species, for crying out loud! Jareth wasn’t even human! 

Yet, she had all but melted into his embrace, despite her half-assed show of protest. Everything had felt so weirdly perfect, surrounded by his warmth, his scent filling her nostrils, making her practically drunk on him. He had smelled of woodsy cedar, with an earthy undercurrent of rosemary, leather and some unnamable hint of musk; a sort of otherworldly, feral wildness.

Even a month later, Sarah could swear she still smelled him, that she could still feel the wiry, lean muscle of his arms grasping possessively about her waist. It was as if she could still feel the feather-light brush of his lips against the sensitive shell of her ear, as he coached her on how to word her oath.

Sarah shivered at the recollection, as her thoughts drifted onward to that overwhelming strangeness that had washed over both she and Jareth when they had touched palm to palm; blood to blood. Again, the sensation should have been all wrong. It should have been frightening and utterly terrifying.

They had tapped into some sort of indescribably strange power. She should have been clamoring to pull from him and run far, far away. It hadn’t felt the least bit scary or off-putting though. In fact, it had felt like coming home. It had felt like belonging. 

Sarah couldn’t even recall the last time she felt as she had at that moment with the Goblin King. Ever since her mother had left and carved out a new life for herself from the ruins of what had once been the seemingly rock-solid familial foundation of Sarah’s young existence, Sarah hadn’t much felt at home anywhere, not even in her own house.

However, in that weird moment with Jareth, with that all-consuming energy pulsating and thriving between them, she’d felt as if she’d been exactly where she was always meant to be.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! You can’t keep thinking like this! You don’t belong in that place. Your home isn’t in a goblin castle. Do you really think a Goblin King would make a good husband, Sarah? Do you? No, no you don’t! You can’t just run off and play queen. You have a life here…you have a Toby!_

_Toby…_

Oh how she loved that round-cheeked, little ball of sunshine. She’d tried her best to remain detached, to tell herself that the baby was just yet another reason she no longer knew the comfort of the life with which she had once been familiar.

Her dad had proposed to Karen the day after he’d found out that she was pregnant and a rushed wedding ceremony had ensued in the backyard, less than a month later. Sarah had once allowed her bitterness to let her believe that if it hadn’t been for Toby, Karen would have remained the overly flirty art gallery attendant from the city, who her dad had met at a mixer held for a client one night.

If not for the unexpected pregnancy, Karen might have always stayed just the over-eager woman, who had set her sights on a dashing lawyer but had been taken about as seriously as an episode of _Small Wonder_. Before Toby, Her dad had firmly rebuffed Karen at every turn, whenever she’d attempted to get too serious too quickly and had strictly kept to the territory of awkward breakfasts, the morning after a _sleep-over_. 

Those breakfasts had been weird and extremely unpleasant for Sarah. No one want’s to think of their dad doing _that_ , especially when secret hopes of future reconciliation between one’s parents are fervently harbored.

However, the morning run-ins with Karen hadn’t been all that often and her dad had always been ardent about practically pushing the woman out the door, the second she had taken her last bite of hastily prepared scrambled eggs and half-burnt toast. 

Yet much to Sarah’s chagrin, it hadn’t stayed there. Instead, the _awkward-breakfast-lady_ had told Robert that she was going to have a baby, **his** baby and of course…everything had changed.

At first Sarah had insisted to herself that the change had been for the worst, that Toby had ruined everything, that if it hadn’t been for him, she and her dad would have been so happy, just the two of them. However, the undeniable truth of it was that they **hadn’t** been happy, not even a little bit.

When Linda had left them for her career; decided that she valued the siren call of the stage over her own family, she had taken all their joy with her. She’d sucked all the life out of the house and had packed it right up in her obscenely expensive _Chanel_ suitcase. Before the awkward breakfasts with Karen, there had been endless awkward dinners with just Sarah and her dad, stiffly seated at a table far too big for two. 

During these stiff-backed, tight-lipped meals, her dad would always halfheartedly attempt to break up the ever-lengthening pauses in their strained small talk, by asking her how school was. The manner in which he had always asked, clearly belied he was only inquiring for two reasons:

**One-** he felt obligated to do so because he was the parent and that’s what parents are **supposed** to do.

**Two-** he simply needed a verbal barrier in which to block at least some of the unsettling silence with.

All the while, the chair next to him, which had always been where Linda had preferred to sit, wordlessly mocked them both with its emptiness. So to a nerve-strumming soundtrack of clanking forks, the unnecessary clearing of throats and the restless _tap-tap-tap_ of shoes on the hardwood floor beneath the table, Sarah and her father went about their pathetic sham of pretending not to notice and periodically managed to force-out stilted scraps of minimal banter. 

Even though Sarah was not a Karen fan by a long-shot, she did have to admit, even if just to herself, it was nice to see her dad smile at meals again, even if the source of those smiles was a conniving harpy. To be fair, said conniving harpy had brought Toby into the world. So Sarah supposed Karen wasn’t quite so bad.

Toby had been Sarah’s first bit of brightness in the two gloomy years since her mother had left. Looking back, Sarah supposed Toby had owned her heart from the very instant he was laid in her arms, all red-faced and squint-eyed, at the hospital. The second her baby brother’s grasping tiny hand had curled around her proffered finger, she had been a total goner. 

Despite the belligerent act Sarah had so readily put on, before her introspective journey through the Labyrinth, she had adored her baby brother from the start. However, she had tried her damnedest to cling to the delusion that the blame for all the new and uncomfortable changes, as well as the furthered lack of her father’s attention, rested squarely on Toby’s tiny shoulders.

It had been so much easier to blame the baby and his mother, rather than her own father. For the first year of Toby’s life, Sarah had clung desperately to the self-indulged lie that it was anyone’s fault but her dad’s…it just **couldn’t** be her dad’s; it just couldn’t. 

The truth of it was, that deep down, Sarah feared to admit the real issue. If she had to face that it **had** been her father’s own choice not to reach out to her and offer love, support and reassurance when she had needed it the most, she might not be able to live with the consequences.

What if the fissure of grief-laced rejection, which had cracked across her heart the very second her mother had climbed into that waiting cab, further widened and caused her already battered heart to break in two completely? 

Sarah had been utterly unable to go there; to fully face what she already inwardly knew, with the certainty that most people know that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. When her father looked at her, he saw Linda staring back at him.

Sarah had unfortunately found herself unable to brush away the hated, telling little signs, no matter how hard she had tried. They had plagued her endlessly; often turning up like a bad penny, just when she had managed to convince herself that it was all in her head, that it wasn’t what it looked like…but it **was** and dammit it all to hell, Sarah saw it.

Sarah saw it in the way her dad had never entirely been able to meet her eye after her mother’s departure. She saw it in the way he always seemed to be eager to leave a room once she had entered. She also saw it in the way that just casually conversing with Robert seemed to take something out of him and further dim the already diminished light within his eyes.

It became all too clear, all too quickly, Robert Williams just couldn’t bear the pain of even being around his daughter. She was the living, breathing reminder of the woman who had all but destroyed him and left him but a wispy shadow of the man he had once been. Disturbingly enough, the small, minuscule part of Sarah that could acknowledge that cutting reality, understood.

When it had all still been fresh and the mingled shock, anger, and outrage, had hung over their freshly broken home, like a perpetual storm cloud, it had been all Sarah could do not to cry at her own reflection. It had been like a particularly devastating parting blow; its sting resonating, each and every time her mom’s green eyes, dark hair, and pert nose, cruelly greeted her in the mirror.

Sarah understood how looking at her, the younger duplicate of Linda Williams, might yet further twist the knife of his ex-wife’s abandonment, in her dad’s heart. Even with Karen and Toby now in the picture, Sarah could still see that the familiar cloud of sadness in her dad’s gaze, hadn’t entirely dissipated. The deep grooves of his previously ever-present frown also hadn’t quite softened from around his mouth.

Karen and Toby helped sooth her dad’s deep emotional scars, but they couldn’t heal them; not wholly. Sarah doubted anyone ever fully could. Those scares were now as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the shade of his hair.

Her mother had been her father’s entire world, the love of his life…and she had chosen to leave him for the bright glare of a spotlight. The ugly truth of it was, that in way he had decided to leave too.

Her dad had **chosen** to detach from Sarah. He had **chosen** an emotional abandonment to accompany her mother’s physical one. He had **chosen** to all but stop loving her, simply because it was too hard to do so any longer.

She had needed him so desperately, and he had all but turned his back. In that regard, he was just like Linda; choosing the easy route over her. Time and time again Sarah found herself dodging around the jagged edge of that bitter epiphany, like a fencer frantically dodging the vicious thrusts of their opponent’s blade. 

Beneath the ever-thinning and cracked layer of denial, in which Sarah had eagerly chosen to bury herself, she had known it all to be true; that her father had drifted away from her to save himself further pain.

For the longest time, Sarah had feared that genuinely facing the heart of the matter would possibly annihilate what little was left of the happy, carefree girl she had been before.

Within the recesses of Sarah’s mind, rippled a wave of unreasonable fear. She feared that if she were to do the unthinkable and just accept it; if she were to wear her emotional scars for everyone to see, the shaky remains of her internal foundation would crumble apart entirely. 

Linda had torn a vital part of Sarah away; the piece of Sarah that had trusted those she loved without question; the part of her that had never before had to question the true nature and strength of loyalty and commitment. Linda had left nothing behind but a raw, bleeding maw where that significant part of Sarah’s character had once resided.

So it stood to reason that if she accepted that her father alone, was responsible for denying her the healing comfort and support Sarah had been so desperately in need of, yet another significant part of her would be brutally ripped away, and what would be left then?

So instead, Sarah had tried to pin the blame upon Karen and Toby, for her dad’s emotional distance. She told herself that if it hadn’t been for them, Robert would still be the dad he used to be before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

If not for them, He would be the dad who would sometimes play hooky from the office, to pick her up right after her last class and take her to the movies, just for the heck of it; the dad who asked _“How was school?”_ with actual interest alighting in his voice.

Despite her instant love of her brother, it had been somehow easier to blame him, along with his mother, for the disappearance of that happier, more attentive version of her father. Said blame, although woefully misplaced, had given Sarah a much-needed diversion from the festering truth of the matter. 

Her journey through the Labyrinth, however, had been an unexpected catalyst for a startling and somewhat multi-faceted, inner awakening for Sarah. While she had clumsily dodged dangers untold and barreled through hardships unnumbered, in the desperate search for Toby, she had found herself smack-dab in the center of not only Jareth’s Labyrinth, but in her barrage of internal realization as well.

Somewhere along the winding, twisting paths and pitfalls of the Goblin King’s realm, she had unknowingly cast aside her blinders and had begun to see a great many things for what they truly were. After all, _nothing is what it seems_ ; a lesson her experience in the Underground had taught her both literally and figuratively. 

Somewhere between the moment when she had first come upon Hoggle (crudely relieving himself in the fountain, in front of the Labyrinth’s entrance) and that pivotal confrontation between Jareth and herself, Sarah had somehow gained the answers to a great many things.

First and foremost (even though she had truly known it all along), Sarah had fully accepted that, not only did she love Toby from the top of his wispy little blond head, to the tips of his chubby little pink toes, but she also **needed** him. 

Sarah needed him because, without Toby, she knew that the newfound spark of joy that had come to illuminate her once grey world, would be snuffed out and she would be alone once again. She would be left amongst people who were _supposed_ to love her, but either didn’t seem to know the first thing about the emotion or were just too inwardly damaged to express it properly.

Toby’s love was pure and unconditional, and after knowing its effervescent sweetness, Sarah couldn’t even begin to fathom ever being without the tiny, blonde source of it. She still didn’t feel as if she quite belonged in her newly cobbled-together family, but Toby certainly helped ease the discomfort. 

The second epiphany to bloom within Sarah’s racing mind, as she’d traversed the bizarre and fantastical landscape of the Goblin Realm, had surprisingly enough, been that she didn’t actually hate Karen. It was, however, safe to say, that without a doubt, Karen would never be considered amongst Sarah’s favorite people.

Nor was it very likely that Sarah would ever feel comfortable enough to ask her stepmother for such things as boy advice or makeup tips. The chances of the two of them ever baking cookies together and doing other such cliché mother/daughter stuff, were probably slim to none at best. 

In Sarah’s opinion, Karen was still a bit of a tight-ass, who loved getting her way more than she enjoyed dowsing herself in _Chanel No. 5_ and sneaking the occasional after-dinner cigarette, thinking no one the wiser.

Yet, Sarah had to admit, even with Karen’s penchant for bossiness and her knack for manipulating Robert into always taking her side, she wasn’t at all on the same level as the wicked stepmothers who skulked within the pages of her beloved faerie stories. Karen was much too shrewd and domineering for Sarah’s liking, to be sure, but _wicked_ she wasn’t.

In fact, she and Karen had even fallen into a sort of unspoken truce, within the recent months. Ever since the night Sarah and Toby had returned from their secret _adventure_ , things between Sarah and her stepmom had been surprisingly pleasant.

Of course, most of said truce was attributed to Sarah realizing a change in her own attitude was sorely needed, as galling as that was to admit; even if just to herself. 

As high maintenance and demanding as Karen could be, Sarah had come to realize that things went so much more smoothly when she held back from pushing her stepmother’s buttons and stopped throwing fits over the smallest thing that she judged to be unfair.

Oddly enough, dealing with the Goblin King had taught Sarah the importance of choosing her battles. Apparently holding her tongue could have surprising perks, because her efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed with her stepmom.

Just a few weeks into Sarah’s new attitude adjustment, Karen had stopped taking stuffed animals for Toby from her room, without permission and had even made it a point to thank Sarah for the gift of Lancelot; calling it a _“sweet and thoughtful gesture.”_

Sarah also found that when she agreed to watch Toby without a fuss, she’d often find small gifts of gratitude left on the kitchen counter, for her to enjoy while she watched the baby. Sometimes it was pizza from her favorite parlor or a cupcake from the bakery on Main Street.

One time she even found a VHS copy of _The Breakfast Club_ next to a packet of _Jiffy Pop_ , with a note from Karen, stating that if she wanted, she could invite Genevieve over to watch the movie with her. Not that Sarah needed an incentive to watch Toby, not anymore. 

Ever since the awful night that Jareth had spirited her brother away, Sarah had learned not to take Toby for granted. She had since stopped seeing the occasions that she was asked to watch him as Karen encroaching on her personal time, or as an opportunity to lament how put-upon she was; to try and snag her father’s rarely-given attention.

Instead, Sarah had chosen to let go of all that nonsense and just enjoy things like watching _Sesame Street_ with Toby or helping him work the little plastic shapes of his shape sorter, into their respective slots. She now did these kinds of things without letting misplaced grudges or desperate grabs for attention, taint her time with her brother. 

Sarah had also cast aside the childish pretense of not enjoying things like singing to Toby at bedtime or reading him stories. Instead of keeping her fondness for her brother a secret, she openly volunteered to sing him _Rockabye Baby_ and read him stories from his extensive collection of _Little Golden Books_.

She gladly read him any story, just as long as it had **nothing** whatsoever to do with goblins or stolen babies; lesson learned there. So the presents from Karen were pretty much unnecessary, because Sarah relished her time with Toby, regardless. However, she had to admit; it was nice to be thought of. 

In fact, it even seemed that her lack of sulking and stepmom-baiting had worked its wonders in regards to softening Karen on some of her more rigid rules. Two weeks prior, her stepmother had come home to declare that she had gotten a new medication from her doctor. Said medication made Karen's supposed dog allergies more manageable.

So Karen had purposed that Merlin could go back to sleeping in Sarah's room at night. With one condition, as long as she agreed to have him out in the backyard during the day.

Sarah was still fairly sure that Karen’s _allergy_ was complete bull, but having Merlin in her room at night was a vast improvement over having him bunk in the garage. So Sarah decided to take the small win and call it a victory. 

Things with Karen were far from perfect though. Her stepmom still made it glaringly apparent that she expected to have the lion’s share of Robert’s time and attention and if Sarah ever protested, she was often treated to a scathing lecture on how she just had to accept that not everything was all about her.

Sarah’s typical rebuttal of how **nothing** was ever really about her anymore, as far as her dad went, often had such unpleasant consequences as being grounded from the phone and not being able to go out with her friends on weekends. Karen, although having softened a smidge, was still very much the queen bee of the hive.

Sarah’s dad seemed ever-content with his wife calling the shots and did nothing to intervene in instances of obvious unfair treatment, anything to avoid actually having to parent. Frustratingly enough, he still seemed bent on keeping his emotional distance from his own daughter.

That, unfortunately, hadn’t changed over the passing months in the slightest. However, Sarah had come to realize, shortly after her Goblin Realm excursion, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Her dad was only human and just like everyone else, he had his cartload of baggage to deal with. While Karen seemed to make him happy enough and the storm cloud of hurt and resentment that had once hovered over their home, had drastically thinned. Sarah knew with a deep-rooted certainty that her dad wasn’t quite _over_ her mom. 

That wasn’t some wishful thinking, encouraged by the fantasy of her parents getting back together, either. No, that dream had sailed away on the _S.S. Never Going to Happen_ the day Karen had announced she had a bun in the oven.

It, however, was just a solid fact that Linda had been the love of Robert Williams’ life. Even though Karen seemed to be a sort balm to his emotional wounds, Sarah knew said wounds would only truly heal once given the right amount of time to do so.

Unfortunately, no one ever knew exactly what constituted as the _“right amount,”_ when it came to such matters. There wasn’t a manual for heartbreak; one size didn’t fit all for issues such as spousal abandonment.

Sarah knew her dad would someday heal. She just had to be patient, and perhaps someday, he would find a way to bridge the gap between them. 

Her dad loved her, in her heart Sarah knew it to be true, but she also knew his headspace had been severely mucked-up after her mom had gone. It would take however long it took to clear-up again, and that was just all there was to it. When the time finally did arrive though, she would be waiting for him.

Until then, Sarah vowed that she would give her dad every last ounce of understanding and support that she possibly could. Yes, he’d chosen to disengage from her, but it wouldn’t last forever. After all, according to a certain overly smug king, not even _forever_ was very long.

Sarah could weather the remaining dregs of her father’s inner storm until it stopped for good. She could be strong and love enough for the both of them.

That was probably the most valuable lesson her quest in the Underground had taught her; that everyone was on their own personal journey and no one else had any say over when it was over. That was up to the traveler and the traveler alone. Sarah would simply await the day when her dad too, had finished his own quest. It was all she **could** do.

With a wistful sigh, Sarah pushed away her melancholy-tinged thoughts of both past and future and refocused on the present. She stowed her overly stuffed suitcase in the back of her closet.

It was best to avoid difficult questions about where exactly she thought she was going, should her dad or Karen come across it before she left. As she shut her closet door and gave her room a glancing once-over, to make sure she hadn’t forgotten to pack some vital necessity or other, Sarah found her mind drifting right back to her upcoming _trip_. 

Although the circumstances of her journey to the Goblin Realm were far from desirable, she couldn’t help the burble of excitement that welled-up within the pit of her belly, at the thought of getting to see her friends again.

Not to mention receiving the chance to explore their bafflingly eccentric and undeniably mesmerizing, world more thoroughly than she had during her rushed labyrinth run. Just like the man who governed over the strange realm itself, it fascinated Sarah far more than it should. 

There she was again, back to thinking about Jareth.

 _Arrrg!_

God, what was wrong with her? She should be thinking of guys her age…guys who were normal, human and **not** scheming, domineering jerkwads! Guys like Alex Greene. Although Sarah was pretty sure she had screwed-up that particular prospect, beyond all recovery.

However, she still wasn’t quite sure what she had done wrong. Alex had seemed pretty into her until just a few days ago…the day after he’d kissed her. It had been Sarah's very first kiss, which made it such a shame that the whole experience had been kind of a downer.

Alex had stopped her after school, on her miserably cold walk home; pulling up to the snow-caked curb in his black _Honda Accord_. As always, he’d looked like some sort of high school Adonis, with his sparkling azure eyes, sandy-blonde hair and a body that was impossibly fit from all the sports he played; basketball in the fall, hockey in the winter and lacrosse in the spring.

He had smiled at Sarah, in a way that should have made her knees weak and her heart flutter, but for some weird reason, did neither. 

Alex had offered her a ride home and Sarah had accepted. It wasn't just because it had been what her crass uncle Melvin would refer to as _“colder than a witch’s titty on a brass broomstick,”_ that particular day either. Although, she really did need to stop putting off taking her driver’s test.

Mostly, Sarah had accepted the unexpected offer because she’d felt that it was something she **should** do. Just like Karen was so very fond of reminding her, she **should** have dates at her age.

She **should** get all breathless and starry-eyed over popular boys and scribble their names in the margins of her Algebra notes. She **should** want someone like Alex Greene to notice her, but the problem was, she didn’t, not really. 

Whenever Sarah shut her eyes and let her mind drift to the rose-hued ether of the land of daydreams, it wasn’t a jock with a dimpled chin and letterman’s jacket, who she imagined holding her close. It was a king; a king with bizarrely enthralling mismatched eyes and a voice like liquid sin.

This of course, Sarah recognized as a problem; a huge, **gigantic** problem. However, she knew that for every problem there was always a fix. That was something her dad had taught her, back when she was little and had cried over a dropped ice cream cone or the seemingly impossible feat of tying her shoes.

Jareth had somehow wormed his way into her brain; had borne gaping holes straight through her common sense and reason, like a worm in a peach. Now, with the damned bargain she’d been all but trapped into making, riding on the line, Sarah knew it was more important than ever that she find a way to strengthen her resolve and see the Goblin King as nothing but an obstacle to overcome.

So, therefore, she reasoned that Alex, jock-extraordinaire, could very well be her _fix_. 

Maybe (Sarah had supposed), it was just that she needed someone else to deviate her thoughts of the haughty goblin monarch. After all, girls her age were always falling in and out of infatuation.

Even Genevieve, her oh-so-level-headed best friend, rotated crushes at the frequency that most people changed socks. One minute it was Robby Davis, the student body president, who’d had her friend blushing non-stop and giggling way, **way** too much; then the next it had been Kevin Peters, the star of the track team.

If Genevieve was capable of swapping out the object of her affection so very quickly, Sarah figured that she was as well. She just needed someone else to transfer said affection to…if whatever it was she felt for Jareth could be called _affection_.

So when Alex had parked in front of her house, had asked her out to the movies, she’d said yes. After her murmured acceptance, he had leaned in close, with the weak excuse of pushing a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes.

Sarah had willed herself to feel a rush of heat, a tingle, a flutter… **anything**! Her heartbeat had remained woefully steady and her breath disappointingly even. Even when Alex had dipped his head and slanted his eager mouth against hers, there hadn’t been even the slightest glimmer of a spark. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! 

Sarah hadn’t been able to hide her disappointment that kissing hunky Alex Greene was about as stimulating as pressing her mouth to a piece of plywood and had sighed her regret against his lips. Alex, unfortunately, had misinterpreted said sigh as a signal of her enjoyment and eagerness for more.

Before she’d been able to so much as blink, he’d slipped his tongue past her lips, without as much as a murmur of warning. Sarah had tried to go with it, had tried to glean what enjoyment she could from the unexpected action, but he’d been all teeth and slobber; his tongue tasting unappealingly like the nacho cheese _Doritos_ he’d had with his lunch.

It had been all so wrong; wrong place; wrong time; wrong guy. A vision of a crooked, mocking grin and cruel, duel-colored eyes had flashed in her mind’s eye, and Sarah had groaned her frustration aloud; right into Alex Greene’s slimy, _Dorito_ flavored, mouth.

Unfortunately that too had been misinterpreted as a sign of encouragement. Alex had then aggressively gripped the back of her head and shoved his squirming tongue so far back into her mouth that Sarah had wondered if he’d been trying to taste her tonsils.

With a flat palm pressed firmly to his chest, she’d eased him back. A revolting tendril of saliva had connected their mouths for a split-second, making Sarah visibly cringe.

Alex however, had seemed blissfully ignorant of her disgust, as he’d caressed her cheek with clammy fingers. He'd then shot her a cocky grin, before saying he would see her at school the next day. Alex had seemed to think they had shared a _moment_ that hadn’t been an entirely gross let-down.

So Sarah had eased herself from his too-warm car and had then rushed up to her room to agonize about just how to tell him that she had changed her mind about their movie date. It turned out that she hadn’t needed to bother.

Despite his pleased demeanor when she had exited his car, the next day it was more than obvious that Alex had rethought things. He then proceeded to treat her as if she was a carrier of the black plague. 

When their eyes had met across the hall, Sarah had given Alex a sheepish wave and had begun to take a few tentative steps in his direction. She had silently prayed that her _‘Sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you’_ speech, somehow managed to sound far less lame aloud than it did in her head.

Apparently she should have just saved herself the time and worry. Before Sarah had so much even managed to cross the hall, Alex had abruptly turned on his heel and hauled ass so quickly from the vicinity, that all Sarah had seen was the departing red and white blur of his lettermen’s jacket.

Apparently he’d thought her every bit the lousy kisser she had found him to be. However, unlike her, Alex had decided to forgo the gentle let-downs and simply ran like his ass was on fire. 

_Oh well…_

Sarah sighed to herself, with a contradictory mingling of regret and relief, at the recent memory of her less than magical first kiss.

_Well, Genevieve always does say that jocks are simple creatures._

“Sarah, you sure you don’t want to watch the movie with us?” Karen called from the upstairs den, down the hall; efficiently banishing Sarah’s unpleasant thoughts of Alex Greene, back to the past where they belonged.

“Come on, Robert Redford is super dishy in this!” her stepmom persisted.

A small smile quirked at the corners of Sarah’s mouth. It was nice that Karen was trying to include her, in what her stepmom like to call _‘Williams Friday Movie Night.’_

However, Sarah had no desire whatsoever to watch _Out of Africa_ for the twentieth time. To say Karen was completely obsessed with the film was putting it mildly. 

“Thanks, but I have some things to do in the morning. I’m just gonna hit the hay early,” Sarah called back, through her partially open door.

“We’ve got buttered popcorn!” Karen sing-songed and Sarah couldn’t help but giggle.

“I’ve already brushed my teeth, thanks. Nite!”

_And I have a two-week-long visit with the maniacal King of another world, starting tomorrow that I have to be well-rested for. Ya know, so I don’t say something stupid and screw-up like last time._

Sarah thought ruefully. 

“Party pooper! Okay, suit yourself. I’ll just ogle Mr. Redford all by myself,” came Karen’s teasing reply.

It was weird, Karen was almost likable these days. Sarah briefly wondered if it was a sign of the world coming to an end. 

“Aww, honey… _Out of Africa_ **again**??? Are you sure we can’t just, for once, watch something along the lines of _Rambo_ or maybe _Silverado_ …or _The Terminator_?” Sarah heard her dad complain.

Sarah stifled a laugh as Karen proceeded to lecture her dad on the _“brain-rotting”_ effects of _“mindless violence.”_ The lecture was quickly followed by the all too familiar strains of swelling music, mingling with the rhythmic _chug-chug-chug_ of a train, accompanied by the opening line of Meryl Streep’s solemn narrative; _“I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills.”_

_Enjoy the slow torture of the next three hours, dad._

With that, Sarah shut her door, changed into her favorite blue flannel pajamas and gently eased Merlin’s slumbering bulk to the side so that she could slip into bed. Now that he was allowed to sleep in her bed at night, the big, furry lug thought he owned it.

Sarah smiled fondly at her beloved pooch, as he insistently curled his shaggy body into her, once she’d settled in and pulled the quilt around them. She gave Merlin a few distracted pats down the furry expanse of his back and tried not to let her thoughts drift back her disastrous first kiss, as she clicked off her bedside lamp.

Nope, she didn’t need to think about it anymore. She also didn’t need to think about how she would have preferred said first kiss to have occurred…or more like **who** she would have preferred to have had said first kiss with. 

With that insidious thread of a thought running all throughout the shadowed corners of her brain, Sarah turned her head and groaned despairingly into her dinosaur pillow.

Images of herself and Jareth in that damned ballroom instantly flooded her mind; a scenario she had guiltily played-out, via the privacy of her imaginings, countless times before. The undesired images came waltzing right in, like unwanted guests at a party. 

_No, not again! Seriously Sarah?!_

All she wanted to do was sleep and forget that she would be coming face-to-face with that crazy-haired, arrogant prick, the next day; that she would be staying under his roof for two whole freaking weeks!

It was enough to make anyone’s head reel and set to them agonizing over just what to say and just how to act, to avoid more pitfalls…like that damned three-extra-years slip yet. She needed to rest, to feel refreshed and be ready for whatever the next day might throw at her, not morbidly fantasizing about what might have been if that weird peach’s effects hadn’t worn off when they had. 

Like it or not though, the crystal-clear image bloomed in vibrant, breath-stealing detail, within her mind’s eye; as if it were an actual memory, instead of just some pathetic teenage, love-sick daydream. Sarah could see it as clear as day; Jareth stilling their waltz, his arms tightening possessively around her, the mesmerizing words of his song fading upon his lips and his head dipping to taste the eagerness of her mouth.

_Oh god…_

Why couldn’t she just forget the stupid notion of him and her…like **that**. It wasn’t like it would ever happen… **could** ever happen, absolutely not! There was too much at stake. Silly fantasies were one thing, actually bending to the Goblin King’s will was quite another.

 _Never. Going. To. Happen._

Squinching her eyes tight, to the point of nearly being painful, Sarah willed other images to the forefront of her mind. She effectively banished the rosy glow of girlish fantasy to the shadows, as a macabre parade of sinister images claimed center stage, within the theatre of her mind. 

Jareth taunting her, mocking her, talking down to her…all while she desperately grappled with understanding just what had happened to Toby, who had been safe in his crib but only a second before. 

Jareth tossing, what appeared to be a snake at her, as her chest heaved with the raw, nausea-tinged crush of panic.

Jareth threatening her, then making her run for her life, as a speeding spiral of deadly blades began to close in at her heels.

Jareth, sitting proud and haughty upon his throne, as he wrangled her into practically signing her life away.

Jareth’s mocking grin…

Jareth’s mouth…

That strange, but incredible feeling that had crashed over them, when they had pressed their bleeding palms together…

A feeling of rightness…

A feeling akin to the pieces of an elaborate jigsaw finally sliding into place…

How her heart had stuttered at his murmured words…

_“Whatever it is, it was meant to be. Of that I am certain.”_

How he had leaned into her; closer and closer still…

How she had felt almost high on the woodsy, otherworldly scent of him; the warmth of his arms banded around her as that strange, practically electric force had pulsated around them, between them. It had made her feel as if it were just her and Jareth adrift on the tides of a warm, rhythmic ocean…

The light-headed thrill that had sent tingling shockwaves of anticipation all the way from her scalp, down to the tips of her toes, when Jareth had looked as if he might just close the space between them, that he just might kiss her…

How that look that had glinted in his half-lidded eyes, almost worshipful…awestruck…and _hungry_ …like he could devour her…

That look alone had caused a surge of heat to bloom within her cheeks. Her blush had rapidly traveled down her neck, to the pit of her belly…and below, to the point that she had been warm and tingling in places the Goblin King had no business making her warm and tingly in.

Even presently, just the thought of how she’d felt in that surreal, all-encompassing moment in the throne room, made her ache…made her _want_. 

_Damn…I’m hopeless and in way over my head!_

Sarah let, out a prolonged sigh of self-exasperation; clenching her thighs together beneath the barrier of her patchwork quilt, in a vain attempt to relieve the unsettling ache between her legs. Damn, sleep was probably going to elude her again, just like it had the last time she’d paid a visit to Jareth’s world.

For the briefest of seconds, Sarah toyed with the idea of slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her pajama pants, to seek reprieve via her fingers. Anything to take the edge off, so her nerves could settle, and sleep could swallow her up in its desperately needed oblivion. However, she mentally snuffed out the impulse, almost as quickly as it had sparked. 

Nope, it was a colossally, bad idea; Sarah knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. She knew **exactly** whose face would materialize behind the veil of her clenched eyelids if she were to rub herself to climax just then and she wasn’t going there. She **couldn’t** go there! Not when her entire future was riding on the line.

Although Jareth treated the whole thing as if it were some kind of game, it wasn’t, not to her. It was her life. Sarah knew that more than anything, she needed to stay strong and keep her head about her. 

Indulging in that sort of… _activity_ , while thinking of the _Tight Pants Wonder_ , was just begging for all sorts of trouble. It was a kind of trouble she needed about as much as she needed a hole in the head…or a Goblin King for a husband! 

Besides, it would be weird with Merlin right there. She would have to get up and go to the bathroom and frankly, that was more trouble than it was worth. Thinking about the bathroom suddenly had Sarah remembering the few prescription sleep-aids of Karen’s, which she’d pinched on impulse, from the hall medicine cabinet a few days prior.

She all but sagged back on the mattress with a sigh of relief, at the well-timed recollection. There was more than one way to relax into sleep and when one couldn’t indulge in the…errm…more _“natural methods,”_ then the blessed relief of unconsciousness was a job for the chemical approach. With her new plan of action decided, Sarah switched on her bedside lamp once again; flooding the room with suddenly blinding yellowish light. 

Squinting uncomfortably and pausing to blink half-a-dozen times, Sarah fumbled, half blind, for the jutting tab-like edges that served as a knob, on her top nightstand drawer. She only succeeded in knocking over the silver-framed picture of her and her mom in _Central Park_ ; taken during one of their very few visits the year before.

With a clipped sigh of agitation, she righted the frame with a decidedly less than gentle _thud_. Beside her, Merlin only stirred, ever so slightly and let out a deep, grumbling doggy-snore.

“Well, at least one of us doesn’t have to worry about insomnia tonight,” Sarah chuckled under her breath, as she finally slid open the first drawer of her white, stacked-drawer nightstand.

She took out the old, dented _Altoids_ tin, which she had selected to house her _secret stash_. 

Sarah still couldn’t quite believe that she’d had the so-called _“balls”_ to nick the three chalky-white pills from Karen’s prescription bottle in the first place. She **never** did stuff like that.

Heck, she felt unreasonably guilty if she so much as forgot to return her library books on time. Although, her ever-rising anxiety over the genuine possibility that she might yet make another sloppy misstep, in regards to dealing with _His Royal Doucheyness_ , had been a very compelling motivator. 

Sarah had known that the last thing she’d needed was another sleepless night, to leave her skull feeling as if it had been packed with cotton and her wits feeling about as sharp as a rusted butter knife, like the last time she stood before the king of the goblins. So she had shaken out the three pills onto her palm and pocketed them, knowing Karen would never notice such a small amount missing.

She’d then stored them in the empty _Altoids_ tin; just in case. She’d figured that it was a very real possibility that she might need them. There she was, once again; the night before an encounter with the Goblin King and she was a complete disaster of jagged nerves, rising anxiety, and raging hormones. 

With a resigned sigh, Sarah grabbed up the tumbler of water she always kept at her bedside, just in case she woke up thirsty in the middle of the night. She placed one of Karen’s pills on her tongue and with a quick sip, down the hatch it went.

She’d read the warnings on the bottle carefully. As long as she only took one and didn’t drink alcohol or operate any heavy machinery, neither of which she was old enough to do, she would be just fine. 

After returning the tumbler of water and the _Altoids_ tin to their respective places, Sarah settled back down and shut her eyes, her hand finding its unbidden way to the little gift Jareth had given her during that overly eventful audience. For some inexplicable reason, she hadn’t taken off the dainty necklace since Jareth had put it around her neck a month earlier, even though she didn’t need it until she entered the Underground.

It was because it was so important, she told herself. It was the key to keeping her humanity within the Goblin King’s world, her lifeline. She needed to keep it close. It was only practical. As her fingers involuntarily curled around the small teardrop orb charm, Sarah forced her reluctant mind to the path of simple, pleasant thoughts, like springtime daffodils and summer ice cream cones. 

Sarah let her mind drift upon a lazy tide of _happy thoughts_. Said thoughts flowed into a welling bay composed of snippets of precious memories, like cloud gazing with her dad, when she was little and playing in a pile of freshly-raked leaves with a giggling Toby, that past fall. She refused to allow any thoughts other than ones of that nature to penetrate her rosy, mental bubble, as sleep began to gently tug at the edges of her consciousness.

Yet, despite her best efforts, just as the placid lull of slumber pulled her under, her last thoughts were of Jareth; his arms locked around her waist in the throne room, looking into her eyes as if they were windows to the awe-inspiring vastness of the universe itself.

 _“There's such a sad love…deep in your eyes…a kind of pale jewel…Open and closed within your eyes…I'll place the sky…within your eyes…”_

* * *

The dream was a simple one, but deeply unsettling none the less. Sarah stood in some undefinable corridor that was nearly completely overtaken with inky, black shadow. Darkness loomed out all around her, like a yawning, sooty abyss. All was black. All was _nothing_ …except for the dim light from overhead, which illuminated the small area where she stood, in a perfect circle of golden light.

It was as if a beam of sunshine had somehow sliced a hole in the darkness itself and was simply shining through. Blinking upward, Sarah found that she couldn’t determine the source of the light. It seemed to come from nowhere in particular; it just sort of _was_. 

As her curious gaze wandered back to the bleak, obsidian nothing of her surroundings, Sarah let out a strangled yelp of alarm. Just over her shoulder, her eyes landed on a large, shimmering door that she could have sworn hadn’t been there just seconds before.

The door itself seemed to be carved from mother-of-pearl, and its rainbow opalescence glittered in the overhead light. Its perfect glass orb of a knob seemed to beckon to her already reaching hand, _“Open me…open me…”_

Sarah’s hand stilled mid-reach. No, that knob looked too much like the crystal orbs **he** was always conjuring out of thin air. If the door had anything to do with _him_ , it most certainly led to trouble of one kind or another and Sarah wasn’t in the market for any more trouble. Lord knew she had enough in her life already. 

Just as her hand dropped to her side, away from the beseeching temptation of the knob, her overhead ray of sunlight abruptly winked out, like the snuffed flame of a candle.

For a dizzying panic-fueled instant, Sarah was plunged into the pitch-dark and stagnant depths of black nothingness. The almost deafening _pound, pound, pound_ of her pulse echoing in her ears, was the only sound in the engulfing void.

Just as Sarah parted her lips to cry out for help, not that she suspected any was likely to come, the strange door seemed to surge to life. A sliver of golden luminescence suddenly appeared from the beneath it; as if whoever was on the other side had abruptly switched on the lights…and wait, what was that…?

Music! The muffled tune of an all too familiar melody wafted to her straining ears, echoing in the surrounding silence of the darkened abyss all around her.

_“As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you…every thrill is gone, wasn't too much fun at all. But I'll be there for you…as the world falls down…”_

**His** voice. **That** song. It called to her from the other side the mother-of-pearl door, his voice feverishly compelling. For a moment, all Sarah wanted was to throw open that door and immerse herself in his song; immerse herself in him.

Yet the second her fumbling hand brushed the cool smoothness of the glass knob, impulse and recklessness receded, in favor of sobering rationality and reason. 

It was a horrible idea, to open that door. Something deep within the very center of her being, some unknown instinct, shouted out to her that once she opened the door, there would be no closing it.

With a staggering breath, Sarah pulled herself away from the door’s opalescent splendor. She eyed it with a renewed feeling of mistrust prickling at the back of her neck, as the door glittered dully in the small slice of light shining up from beneath it.

She backed away slowly, warily. She almost felt as if she were attempting to withdraw from a wild, hungry animal about to spring upon her. That’s when the knocking started.

 _Thud, thud, thud, thud._  
Came a steady rapping from the other side.

Sarah had to fight against the automatic impulse to open her mouth and lamely ask, _“Who is it?”_

Truth was, she didn’t need to ask. She already knew who stood on the other side of the beautiful mother-of-pearl door. It was just plain common sense that it was a bad idea for one to fling a door wide and invite the devil in. 

_Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!_  
The knocking grew more persistent. 

“No…no, I can’t. Don’t you understand that I can’t?” Sarah whispered into the darkness, the words tasting bitter and disturbingly familiar on her tongue. 

_Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!!!_

Came the impatient, pounding response from the other side.

With that, Sarah turned and ran into the pitch-black of the surrounding nothing. She ran and ran in sightless darkness until she developed a burning stitch in her side and her chest heaved with exhaustion. Yet no matter how long, or far, she ran into the obsidian depths of oblivion, the sound of his knocking followed.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!!!_

* * *

“Sarah! Psst! Sarah, wake up!” a gravelly and altogether annoying, voice was harshly shout-whispering in her ear.

“Wha...?” Came Sarah’s half-formed, groaning reply.

With a slothful mini-stretch of her arms, Sarah cracked her lids, just enough to get a retina-searing eyeful of sunshine. 

“Nooo…” She groaned, her voice sounding as if her throat were packed with gritty sand.

Sluggishly throwing a protective arm over her eyes, Sarah rolled over and away from the direction in which the annoying voice was coming from. Her movements gave her the unpleasant sensation of trying to struggle through tar; the slightest motion feeling impossibly laborious.

Ugh, all she wanted to do was go back to the welcome oblivion of sleep, which was trying its damnedest to suck her back under.

_Just...need…more…sleep…_

“Sarah! Dammit girl, get up! Yer already over an hour late and just because he swore not to harm me in his blood oath, don’t mean he can’t find ways around it!”

Sarah only let out a long, pleading groan in response. Why wouldn’t the owner of that super annoying voice just shut up and go away? 

“Five…more…minutes…” Sarah whimpered sightlessly, to whomever it was that was being a total sadist and trying to force her to get up when her whole body felt like it was encased in lead.

“Five more minutes?! _The Rat_ is practically ready to have the goblins bog me so he won’t be breakin’ the oath! Like you oversleeping is somehow **my** fault! Come on, move your lazy arse!” her sadist was yammering again and even went so far as to forcefully shake her shoulder.

“Nooo…go away…” She mumbled and tried to bunch down into the protective cover of her quilt.

Who could possibly get up when just the mere thought of lifting one’s head seemed totally insurmountable? Couldn’t her personal loud-mouthed sadist see that she just wanted to sleep?

_Sleep…sleep is soooo good…_

“That does it! Ya got this comin’ Sarah!” her sadist was squawking.

_Whatever…just be quiet now…_

_Splash!_

An icy spray of water suddenly came slapping down on her head, just where it poked up from beneath her quilt shelter; electrifying her senses and sending her bolting upward with a breathless gasp.

“Goddammit! **What-the-hell**???!!!” She cried out.

“Serves ya right! Your arse ain’t on no chopping block! _The Rat_ wants to take you to wife. I’ll grant ya that it’s an unpleasant possibility, but it sure as shite beats bein’ bogged, tossed to the cleaners or left to starve to death in an oubliette (like I’ll be), if you don’t get your backside moving, missy!”

“…Hoggle?” Sarah blinked, shakily wiping away dripping water droplets from her eyes, with the back of her sleeve.

“Well, who did ya expect? The tooth faerie? She’s been dead and gone for over a century. The silly nitwit actually **ate** the teeth she took. One day she went and choked on a molar, and now all the Aboveground parents pretend to be her, by sneaking in at night to leave money and the like, under the kiddies’ pillows.

Don’t know how that whole money thing got started anyhow. She didn’t ever leave no money. She usually left half rotted crabapples, small rodent carcasses or old owl pellets. She wasn’t a very nice faerie. Most of the tiny winged ones ain’t, nice that is. That’s why I always use to spray for em. Nasty little troublemakers.”

Sarah only sat there, head dripping, as she openly gaped at her friend. Her still sleep-slogged brain was practically stuttering to keep up with the dwarf’s rambling.

“Anyhow, ain’t no matter. I went and got off subject. It’s almost noon. You were **supposed** to report to the castle an hour ago, just like we talked about the other day,” Hoggle groused.

He replaced Sarah’s empty tumbler back on the nightstand with a forceful _thud_ , as if to emphasize his simmering irritation.

“ Wait…what? Hey, where’s Merlin?” Sarah blinked, glancing at the now vacant spot at her right side, where the dog preferred to sleep. “And did you say it’s the afternoon already? Really?” She turned her dripping head to the small, pink plastic alarm clock at her bedside. “Crap…I forgot to set my alarm!” 

“You don’t say?!” Hoggle gasped in mock-astonishment, his tone particularly waspish.

“Yer stepmother came in a few hours ago and let the shaggy mutt out. Your father was with her, told her not to disturb you and just let ya sleep. They was talkin’ about taking your brother to some _play group_ at some park. I was watching from the other side of the mirror."

"With them outta the house, now is the perfect time to leave. Come on, get up, get dressed and get yer things. Hopefully, you can bat your eyelashes and apologize; calm his Majesty down a bit, before he talks the goblins into shooting me out of _Big Bertha_ or something as equally horrifying,” Hoggle groused.

“…Big…Bertha?” Sarah blinked again.

“ _Big Bertha_ is the most prized war canon of the Goblin Army. Not only would someone be unlikely to survive being shot out of it…but being loaded in the cannon itself would make ya all but beg the Gods for a swift end. Flying out of it and becoming a messy splatter on the ground would be a blessing,” Hoggle nodded grimly.

“Really? How’s that?”

“Well, ya see, it’s a long-standing tradition in the goblin military that on the eve of a battle, half the infantry takes turns _loading_ Big Bertha…and by _loading_ , I mean they all take turns taking a shite down the barrel. It’s said that the first shot of battle should always be nonfatal, but really, **really** unpleasant. So needless to say, the inside of _Bertha_ ain’t too clean,” Hoggle informed her crisply, as he began to tug her quilt off.

“Gross!” Sarah exclaimed with a shudder, instantly feeling immensely sorry for whoever caught the first cannon shot of a goblin battle.

“Exactly! You got lucky. I heard that the King outright refused to let the troops use _Bertha_ on ya, back when we stormed the city. I learned after the fact that they’d loaded it and everything, so count yer blessings. Now be a dear and spare me from a similar fate by moving your arse and getting to the castle, where you were **supposed** to be an hour ago,” Hoggle groused and pulled the quilt free of her body, tossing it to the side. 

“Okay…okay…” Sarah grumbled and scrubbed a hand down her damp face, letting out a muffled yawn into the cradle of her palm. 

Then it hit her, piercing through the sleepy fog in her brain like an arrow hitting a target. Cold, prickling unease ran down the expanse of her spine, as Hoggle’s rambling words finally sunk in “Wait…can he really do that? Can Jareth just side-step the blood oath by having his goblins do his dirty work?” 

“Of course he can do that! Ya didn’t say nothin’ about his goblins or any of his other toadies, not threatening anyone or doing no one no harm. So there you go; instant loophole for His Majesty,” Hoggle replied drily and shambled over to her vanity, yanking the stool over to her closet with a bit of grunting effort.

“So he can get out of it, just like that? What the hell, Hoggle? Why didn’t you warn me?!” Sarah wailed, her heart accelerating to a thumping, panicked pounding.

_Oh god…I fucked-up not once, but twice and didn’t even realize it until now!_

“Pardon me missy, but I **did** warn you! I tolds ya right before the audience, not to go making any bargains with _The Rat_ and as usual, you didn’t listen. And just when do you suppose I could have warned you in the throne room? When he was making anyone who challenged him disappear like he did with Didymus?" Hoggle narrowed his beady eyes at her. 

"Even if I had warned you of that particular loophole, he would have just found another. That’s what the Fae do; find clever ways around obstacles and generally excel at bein’ tricky,” the dwarf informed her with a grim nod, as he opened her closet, used the vanity seat as a makeshift stepstool and began to paw through her clothes aggressively.

“Then…what’s the point of any of this? No one is really safe, and I’m stuck in this hellish deal for five years and from what you’re saying, he’ll more than likely find a way to outsmart me and win the whole shebang! That’s a genuine possibility, considering you had to **tell me** that I practically handed him the loophole of having others do his dirty work for him," Sarah groaned.

"That...and I **gave** him three extra years during that stupid negotiation! Gah! I am so screwed,” Sarah sighed and flopped back on her mattress, as a wave of self-pity enveloped her in its smothering grip.

“Well, sorry to interrupt you feelin’ sorry for yourself and all, but you really do need to put these on and get going,” Hoggle replied tartly

He then tossed her a pair of jeans and a light blue, scooped-neck cashmere sweater, which landed in a heap at the foot of the bed.

“Gee, thanks so much for the support, Hoggle. You’re a real pal,” Sarah groaned and made no move towards the clothing splayed at her feet.

With a sigh, Hoggle hopped down from the vanity stool and came to stand close to where her head rested back on the mattress, bending low to whisper in her ear.

“But ya see, the thing with loopholes is, they go both ways. If yer enemy can find some, that means you can too,” he murmured, giving her a conspiratorial wink, as he straightened to gather up the clothes he’d selected from her closet, then dumped them unceremoniously on her middle.

With those vague, but oddly optimistic words, Sarah was instantly filled with a burning hope-tinged curiosity. 

_Wait, does he know something I don’t? Does he know a way out of this damned mess?_

Sarah opened her mouth to ask both questions, plus a great many more. The very second she took a fortifying breath and parted her lips to put voice to her many inquiries, Hoggle stuck out a knobby, silencing finger and gave her a slight, but doubtlessly resolute, shake of his head.

 _“Now is not the time to discuss this,”_ the look in the dwarf’s eyes all but shouted.

Sarah gave him the slightest of nods in return, letting him know she understood. One could never tell when Jareth was spying in one of his damned crystals.

However, for the sake of her sanity, she sure as hell hoped they got a chance to talk about it soon. If Hoggle did have a solution, then she was all ears.

“You go on and get ready. I’ll be waiting for ya on the other side. Just touch your mirror to cross over, like the last time, but don’t be dawdling. He gets downright nasty whenever he’s kept waitin’ overlong…and you passed that mark a while ago, so best to shake a leg,” Hoggle told her.

“Fine…not that I care If _His Royal Jerkness_ gets a bug up his ass or not, but I do care about you. So I’ll go as fast as I can,” Sarah grumbled and grudgingly got up from the bed, taking the wadded bundle of clothes with her. “Gonna go change and freshen up real quick,” she muttered over her shoulder and trudged over to her dresser.

“As I said, be quick about it,” Hoggle grumbled and pushed the vanity seat back to its rightful spot.

Once again, the dwarf used the seat as a stepstool and bolstered himself to the vanity table proper, where he touched the glass and vanished within a blink.

“No matter how many times I see that happen, I’m pretty sure I’ll never really get used to it,” Sarah murmured groggily to herself. 

Sarah stifled a jaw-cracking yawn, then pulled a clean white cotton bra and a fresh pair of matching panties, out of her top dresser drawer. She moved with all the speed of a geriatric snail, despite all of Hoggle’s previous nagging about being hasty.

Damn, she felt like she was moving underwater and her head felt all swimmy and strange. Her thoughts felt like hundreds of fuzz-topped dandelion seeds, blown and forcibly scattered into the violent current of a particularly unruly wind.

That was it, no more Karen pills! The next time she had trouble sleeping, she would just count sheep like everyone else. What was even the point of taking a pill to fall asleep, when she only woke up feeling just as crappy as she would have if she hadn’t slept, if not more so?

_Ugh…and those dreams…_

A cold shiver snaked its way down the column of her spine, as Sarah recalled the incessant pounding on the other side of the weird opalescent dream door; a restless Goblin King demanding entry. Entry to what exactly? Sarah was sure the dream was chalked-full of metaphors, symbolism, euphemisms, and lord knew what else.

She figured a shrink would probably have a field day analyzing it. If it seemed fucked-up in her own head, god only knew what a professional would make of it. She needed to stop letting the stress of her current predicament affect her so deeply, to the point that it was even screwing with her subconscious. 

_Relax Williams. Eyes on the prize and all that motivational junk. No sense in stressing yourself out to the point you just dig yourself even deeper…you’ve already done that enough._

Sarah sighed to herself, as she made her way to the hall bathroom.

As she went about the tedium of brushing her teeth, taking a quick sponge bath via the sink (no time for an actual shower) and pulling on her clothes, Sarah resolved to concentrate on the positive aspects of her trip to the Underground. She would have time with her friends, time to explore the parts of the Goblin Realm she hadn’t gotten a chance to see during her Labyrinth run.

Although she could do without blade-riddled death machines, decapitation obsessed orange-feathered creatures and a bog that smelled like, well, like a vat of diarrhea left to stagnate beneath a blistering summer sun. Yup, all of that could stay firmly locked in the category of _‘Never Again, Thank you Very Much.’_

Yet despite the many horrifying pitfalls (both literal and figurative) of Jareth’s land, Sarah had also glimpsed its wild, intriguing beauty and had instantly craved more. The rainbow iridescence of a beating faerie’s wing; the rosy, lavender hues of dusk sifting through the silvery trees of the Labyrinth’s woods; the golden brilliance of dawn rising over the spindly turrets of the Goblin Castle.

Those glimpses of the Underground’s underlining magnificence had riled Sarah’s inner explorer and had filled her with the burning need to chase whatever marvels she had missed during her rushed quest. If the land of the Goblin King held dangers untold, just how many wonders might it contain? Finally, she just might get the chance to find out.

Of course, there was also the noteworthy fact that she would be staying in a castle. A freaking **castle**! It would be every fairytale princess daydream she’d ever had, come to life. Even if the Goblin Castle was a bit drafty, and grimy…and had a weird smell that hung around it like an unwanted houseguest...and was undesirably occupied by a scheming jerkface.

The bright side; it was still a castle, even if Sarah was reasonably sure her quarters would probably be some dank little rat-hole that reeked of damp and rot. She mused that she wouldn’t be one bit surprised if Jareth only supplied her with a filthy, tattered and straw-filled, mattress on the dirty flagstone floor. That would be so like him!

 _But still…even a shitty castle is still pretty cool._  
Sarah reasoned optimistically.

The positives; right then she had to focus on the positives. So while Sarah pulled her hair back in a tight bun that rested just at the nape of her neck and dabbed on a hint of makeup, she zeroed-in on said positives. She thought of Ludo’s warm, fuzzy squeeze-hugs; of Didymus’ silly ramblings of his many heroic deeds.

She thought of Hoggle’s prickly, but endearing, snark; of the kind little worm who had once invited her in for tea and how she might like to take his invite finally. She thought of the oddly insightful, but woefully narcoleptic Wiseman and his sassy hat.

There were good things to go back to, she had to remember that. She had to be wary of Jareth, which went without saying. However, Sarah reasoned that if she didn’t glean at least a tiny measure of enjoyment from something as extraordinary as visiting another world, she was bound to go nutso from agonizing over every tiny excruciating detail of what had already, as well as what could still, possibly go wrong. 

Back in her room, Sarah wasted no time pulling on a pair of clean socks and shoving her feet into her pink suede _Nike Air Max’s_. This time she was going with comfort over style.

Sarah pulled her gray peacoat out of the closet and hurriedly slipped it on, before grabbing up her overstuffed suitcase. Because the case was so heavy and over-packed, she had no choice but to half-carry, half-drag, the stupid thing in front of her vanity.

She got just a hint of smug satisfaction from knowing that if she continued to carry it in that manner, she was bound to scuff the immaculate alligator skin her mom had thought so very impressive. 

_Good…_

Sarah smirked and silently vowed to drag it across the dirty flagstone floors of Jareth’s castle, every chance she got. Somehow picturing her mother’s appalled face, as she looked over the scuffed and torn remains of her ridiculous present, put just the tiniest bit of a spring in Sarah’s step and helped the dregs of her regretful sleeping-pill-hangover seem almost bearable.

With a last glance at her reflection and deeming her appearance passable, she pulled the tiny orb charm of her gifted necklace from out of its snug hiding place, beneath the neckline of her sweater.

She brushed her fingers against the cool smoothness of the tear-shaped crystal and silently sent out a desperate prayer to the powers that be, that the visit would somehow go in her favor and that somehow, someway, Jareth wouldn’t succeed in getting under her skin.

No sooner had Sarah cleared the blinding brilliance of passing through the gateway, she found that hope-filled prayer withering and abruptly dying an untimely death upon her inner pedestal of wishful thinking. Something was… _off_.

Sarah’s hackles rose the second the royal portrait chamber came into focus around her. Hoggle was standing a few feet away, sweat glinting dully on his wrinkled brow, winging his hands to the point that his skin was a chaffed, angry red.

Yup, something was most definitely up, she surmised, as her stomach twisted with a heavy feeling of dread. 

_Nothing is ever simple when it comes to this crazy place…and its even crazier king._

Before Sarah could even part her lips to question Hoggle’s apparent anxiety overload, the dwarf rushed over, as if his shoes had spontaneously combusted into flames and immediately began to tug her by the arm, towards the guard-flanked door.

“Hoggle? What’s the-” Sarah began, but lost her grip on the handle of her over-crammed suitcase, tripped over its bulk and was sent sprawling to the cold, stone floor. “Ow! Hoggle, what the hell?”

“Oh! Sorry!” Hoggle stooped to help her up, but his actions remained rushed and more than somewhat frantic.

The second Sarah was once again standing, the dwarf didn’t even so much as give her a second to look over her scraped palms and regrip the handle of her suitcase, before he was tugging her forward again, sans luggage.

Sarah wasn’t sure what had her friend so spooked, but she had an uneasy feeling it wasn’t just Jareth’s growing impatience in regards to her tardiness. The almost crazed glint in Hoggle’s eyes was just a little too urgent, a bit too desperate. Earlier, in her room, he had simply been firmly insistent that she get a move on, not half out of his damn mind.

“Hey, hold up! I gotta get my suitcase!” Sarah dug in her heels, abruptly halting their progress towards the portrait room’s exit. 

Yet the second Sarah turned towards her discarded case, Hoggle’s bony, but unyielding grip was once again clamping around her wrist to the point of bordering on downright painful.

“Errr…no need to worry about that! I’ll send a maid to fetch it later! Now…uh…no reason to linger here. We uh…best be moving along. His Majesty is throwin’ a ball tonight in yer honor, and I know how you females take forever getting ready…so umm…let’s go get you all settled!” Hoggle yammered and began yanking her forward once again.

The dwarf’s voice had that now familiar nervous, quavering quality to it, which always signaled that he was either lying, trying to cover something up, or both.

“Wait, Hoggle! What’s going on? You’re acting really weird,” Sarah dug in her heels once again and pulled her wrist free of the dwarf’s bruising grip.

“Ummm…n-nothing…” Hoggle stammered.

_“Nothing? Nothing, tra-la-la?!”_

Jareth’s taunting words instantly swam through her head.

“Really Hoggle?!” Sarah admonished, with a prolonged huff of exasperation and defiantly stomped over to retrieve her abandoned luggage. “If something is wrong, you need to just tell-”

That’s when she saw it. All further words shriveled on her tongue. Her wide, disbelieving gaze landed squarely on Jareth’s portrait, the one she’d seen when she’d come for the audience; the one with him in the blue tailcoat, brandishing his riding crop, standing all proud and overly self-assured before his throne.

However, it appeared the painting was now complete; the space to Jareth’s right was filled. Unfortunately, what it had was filled with, was enough to have Sarah’s vision tinting a rage-induced crimson and her hands balling to shaking fists at her side.

The salty, metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, and Sarah distantly noted that her lip stung. She must have bitten down on it. It didn’t matter. It could wait. Right at that moment, she was capable of nothing but glaring a hole through the reviled canvas, while trembling with boiling indignation.

 _WHAT. THE. FUCK???!!!_

There she was, painted at Jareth’s feet, bedecked in the shimmering, puffed-sleeved ball gown she’d worn in the weird peach hallucination. Her painted doppelganger sat on the top of the dais, just at the foot of the throne, her iridescent skirts spread out and billowing down the steps, like an opalescent cloud.

Her right arm was snaked around Jareth’s leg, clutching at him with what could only be described as desperate adoration. Her left hand was pressed to her heart, as if just being near _His Royal Doucheness_ was enough to send her into a fit of the vapors, ala Civil War era southern belle.

Her head was tilted upwards, her oil-rendered gaze one of swooning worship and was firmly affixed to the self-satisfied Goblin King; as if he were the very center of her sad little universe. 

If being painted as a simpering moon-eyed bimbo, practically begging at that smug asshole’s booted feet, wasn’t enough to make one’s blood boil and their teeth to clench (nearly to the point of cracking), the real kicker was the addition to the plaque below. 

It now read: _The Goblin King, ‘Jareth the Cunning’ and his Queen, Sarah Williams, from the land above._

The whole thing was a statement, one as glaring and distinct as any neon sign. Jareth thought the game was as good as won, before it had even started; with him as the triumphant victor, ruling over her as if he were her tight-pants-wearing god

.

Sure he’d made the condescending comments about how it would only end with her as his queen and all that, but that had been in the realm of typical overconfidence, something the Goblin King had in spades. The newly redone portrait, however, that was on a whole other level of bastardish behavior.

Recalling that she had once looked upon this very same portrait, in its previously unfinished state and had felt even a twinge of jealousy at the idea of another woman being painted next to the king of the goblins, was enough to make Sarah all but laugh aloud.

Except laughing was the very last thing she wanted to be doing, even the _‘Oh my god, was I ever a complete idiot!’_ kind. What she **truly** wanted to be doing at the moment, was punching a certain cocky asshole of a king, right in his big ole’ schnoz!

“I don’t know nothin’ about it, I swears! It wasn’t there when I crossed over to get ya! The whole painting was missing when I first came in here, and I assumed Guppie was touching it up or somethin’…but when I came back through…there it was, just hanging there…lookin’ like that…with the plaque an’ all…” Hoggle quavered pleadingly, from somewhere behind her, but Sarah scarcely heard him.

All she could do was just stand there, drinking in every detail of Jareth’s oil-rendered insult; simmering in her own molten anger. Again she read the hated inscription on the plaque, her incensed brain whirling with a million ways one might kill a non-human being.

_The Goblin King, ‘Jareth the Cunning’ and his Queen, Sarah Williams, from the land above._

“I. Am. **Not**. Your. Queen!” Sarah hissed between gritted teeth, glowering at Jareth’s leering image. “I’ll **never** become **that**! Ever! I’ll die first!” she spat burning vehemence, gesturing wildly to the insipid, groveling portrayal of herself. 

“Is that all you think of me? Is this really what you want me to be to you, a brainless, pleading _toy_?!” Sarah gasped, and oh shit; why were there tears pricking behind her eyes?

Why did the painting feel like such a devastating blow, right to the heart? She should have seen something like this coming. It was Jareth after all. It really shouldn’t be such a shock. It really shouldn’t ache so terribly; heavy like a two-ton weight crushing her chest.

“Fuck you! You haven’t won anything yet!” Sarah snarled and lunged at the painting, hell-bent on ripping it down from the wall and shredding the hideous, mocking thing to tiny, confetti-sized pieces; with her bare teeth if she had to!

“Errrm…I tried that already…” Sarah heard Hoggle gingerly chime-in, just as she began to yank futilely at the awful portrait’s gilt frame.

_Goddammit!_

The fucking thing was stuck-fast to the wall! It was as if it was cemented in place! Sarah let out a long, eardrum-shattering shriek, as she yanked at the portrait’s frame until her fingers were scraped and purpling with bruises.

“Errrm…my Queen, His Majesty the King, has tasked me with informing you, that he has charmed it to stay intact and in place,” A human-sized guard stepped up to Sarah’s side, just as she began to ineffectively pound portrait Jareth’s crotch bulge with her fists.

“I’m not your goddam queen!” Sarah growled and resumed trying to punch and claw the joke of a painting to much-desired shreds.

 _Ow! Ow! Ow!_  
Sarah inwardly winced.

The stupid thing felt like she was hitting the stone wall, instead of a canvas!

“Goddamit!!! Piece of stupid shit!” Sarah screamed, red-faced as she pulled back her now split-knuckled and badly bruised, fists.

“My Queen, would you like me to escort you to the healer?” The guard offered lamely, his voice muffled by his spiked helm.

“Screw off!” Sarah barked, clutching her battered fists to her chest; her lungs stuttering for air as she took in a series of ragged inhalations.

“Come on, Sarah…let’s get ya to your room, and I’ll fetch a healer to look at yer hands,” Hoggle murmured gently, as he nudged her hip with a tentative hand, coaxing her towards the door.

“I’m not going to my room. I’m going to hunt that sonofabitch down and **make** him burn that thing,” Sarah grumbled, sounding more sulky than fiery.

some of the fight had gone out of her, due to the sharp throbbing in her fists. 

“I uh…I don’t think that’s such a good idea…” Hoggle ventured.

“Screw good ideas!” Sarah shouted, the flame of her anger igniting brightly once again, “This whole stupid thing was the worst idea ever, so might as well go for broke!”

“…Alright…” Hoggle sighed, seemingly at a loss.

“Good thing, I never agreed to not harming him when I made **my** oath because I’m gonna’ kill myself a Goblin King,” Sarah seethed between clenched teeth.

She then spun on her heel and marched, head held high, through the portrait chamber door.

Sarah had no idea where that rat-bastard was hiding, but she’d find his smarmy ass, one way or another.

_Ready or not, here I come, Jareth!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits and Sources:
> 
> Guppie (Amusingly enough, spelled as Pug, for no reason whatsoever)-
> 
> (Briefly mentioned by Hoggle in this chapter.)  
> Pug (pronounced Guppie) is a renowned goblin artist and the official royal portrait painter. He's mentioned on page 12 in _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. Although in the book, he's merely described as just a well known goblin painter, who went out of favor with his fellow goblins when he started painting pretty things, instead of the usual goblin-favored grossness. I personally thought it fitting that he be the royal portrait painter. He'll be making minor appearances every now and again in this fic. 
> 
> Big Bertha-  
> Mentioned on page 102 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. The prized war canon of the goblin army, which is loaded with goblin poop, the night before a battle. Yes, there's even an illustration of a goblin _loading_ it in the book! lol


	8. Of Serpent Swords and Gilded Cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah storms through the Goblin Castle in search of Jareth, with Hoggle at her heels. Unfortunately, she quickly discovers that the Goblin King all but refuses to show himself after his rather rude art display and thus denies giving her the satisfaction of a much needed confrontation. Upon Sarah’s refusal to abandon her quest to give the ruler of the Goblin Realm a piece of her mind, she stumbles upon a few interesting beings and objects…and of course, nothing quite prepared her for the shock of seeing her new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter finally completed! So just a heads-up, I know some of you are jonesing for a Jareth fix…and please don’t kill me, but he won’t be making an appearance in this chapter either. Sorry! *throws _‘please forgive me’_ glitter* Now bear with me, I know I promised a reader, via the comments, that the Goblin King and his _pants, magic pants_ would be in this chapter. Yet unfortunately, as I got to writing this, I realized there were sprinklings of foreshadowing of things to come (which will play a significant role in the future of this story), that I needed to cover first. 
> 
> Yet not to worry, more Jareth is a comin’ in chapter nine. I actually started writing Jareth’s appearance in this very chapter, but then realized that this thing was rapidly growing at forty pages and counting, which was getting a bit absurd. So I cut it off just before the Goblin King's grand, shiny entrance and will resume it next chapter. So I promise, lots of Jareth coming up. I promise for **reals** this time :p
> 
> Again, thanks for reading everyone and thanks a tons for the comments and kudos <3  
> You guys are just plain awesome <3

* * *

_Each moment in Faerie is newly born, vital and various and different than the instant before. Nothing is fixed. The signs and symbols and the words you hear can only truly be translated by you. So look and feel and know._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faerie: p.138)_

* * *

“Goblin King! Where are you?! I demand to speak with you this instant!” Sarah shouted for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d stormed from the portrait chamber, in search of _His Royal Jerkness_.

Damn, her voice was getting hoarse. If she kept yelling, she was bound to have no voice at all by the time she finally found the petty, misogynistic weasel. Sarah ducked down a passageway that she was _mostly_ sure she hadn’t yet gone down, hearing the _clump, clump, clump_ of Hoggle’s boots still behind her.

“I told ya already if he doesn’t want to be found, you ain’t gonna find him,” Hoggle groaned.

“Well, if you want to quit, go right ahead. I’m not stopping until I find that rat-bastard and make him take that hideous joke of a painting down,” Sarah gritted her teeth and marched on, the candles in the wall sconces flickering to life as she approached.

Just like when she’d come to the castle for the audience with Jareth, Sarah had to admit (even in her current state), it was a pretty cool feature. If she hadn’t been on an anger-fueled mission of vengeance, she might have stopped and marveled at the self-lighting fixtures a bit, since she hadn’t gotten the chance before. However, she reminded herself that there would be time enough for that **after** she ripped the Goblin King a new one. 

Doing yet another visual sweep of her immediate surroundings, Sarah mused that even if it was a bit rundown, the Goblin Castle was undeniably fascinating. So far, they’d visited the kitchens, the throne room and Jareth’s quarters. Although Hoggle had tried to tell her that Jareth wouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchens, she’d insisted on at least trying, since they’d come upon it on their way to the castle’s east wing. Much to Sarah’s annoyance, Hoggle had been right. 

There’d been no trace of the Goblin King in the steamy, overcrowded chaos of the castle kitchens. Instead, Sarah had encountered a plump she-goblin cook with a comical poof of frizzy purple hair, pockmarked caramel skin, a pair of beady (and rather deep-set) eyes, a bulbous nose that had kind of reminded Sarah of a potato and a mouth that had looked as if it had been made for the sole purpose of frowning. The she-goblin had worn a dented, armored breastplate, which had peeked out from under her well-used apron. 

The apron itself had looked as if it’d seen better days, bedecked with stains of various sizes, colors and (gag) smells, her equally stained skirt spilling past its frayed hem. Atop her frizzy head, the cook had sported a tarnished helmet, which had a singular spike protruding from the top of it. Around the spike, the she-goblin had cheekily tied a bright pink bow, as if she’d been attempting to add just a touch of color and style to her otherwise drab, utilitarian appearance. 

The bow, unfortunately, had appeared limp and wilted from the humid heat produced by the many boiling pots and baking ovens of the royal kitchens. However wilted though, Sarah had supposed the bow succeeded in making the spiked helm appear a smidge less intimidating, and just the tiniest bit cheery…well, as cheery as a piece of armor went anyway.

Sarah had then wondered just why a cook would even have to armor herself in the first place. The question had been instantly answered when several of the goblin line cooks had randomly burst into a heated argument, in which a flurry of dishes, pots, pans and assorted pieces of cutlery, had gone flying every which way. The she-goblin cook had only stood there with an unimpressed expression, as several pieces of crockery had bounced right off her helmet and hit the stone floor with an explosive shatter. Sarah had then instantly understood the necessity of the cook’s armored garb.

With a silencing _whack_ to a nearby stone countertop (with the severely dented soup ladle the purple-haired cook had possessively clutched in her right hand), the skirmish had then abruptly ceased. The she-goblin cook had gruffly informed her offending underlings, in a low, raspy voice that brokered zero arguments, that if they were to keep at it, she’d slice them all up and toss them into her stew pots. When the previously bickering goblins had jumped back to their previously assigned tasks with saucer-wide eyes and trembling hands, Sarah had instantly wondered why the presumed empty threat had packed such a punch with the quarreling line cooks. It wasn’t like the she-goblin would **actually** chop them up and cook them…right?

Then Sarah had reminded herself that she was in fact, in a world where it was a common practice for offending denizens to be flung into that reeking bog, shot out of poop cannons or thrown into an oubliette and promptly forgotten about. So the fierce little cook’s threat might not be so empty, Sarah had supposed. 

With a suddenly nauseous churn of her stomach, Sarah had firmly resolved to **never** eat the stew. Hoggle had then introduced the menacing purple-haired she-goblin as Weech, the Goblin Castle’s head cook. Weech had taken one discerning, beady-eyed, look at her and had crawled atop a low stone counter, so that she’d then stood at chin-level of Sarah. After a frowning, extensive once-over, Weech had declared that Sarah would make an _“okay queen”_ and that she just needed to eat more so she wouldn’t be so _“damn skinny.”_

“The mens don’t like their womens to be a sack’a bones. They likes ‘em with meat on ‘em. Big round breasts and a fine fat rump! That’s what they likes!” Weech had briskly informed her.

Before Sarah had even had a chance to respond that she wasn’t interested in being a queen of any sort, _“okay”_ or otherwise, so therefore didn’t give a rat’s ass about what the _“mens”_ thought of her figure, Weech had grabbed up what appeared to be a greyish, lumpy roll from a nearby tray. Before Sarah had even thought to question her actions, Weech had crammed the roll in her mouth and shrilly commanded _“Here! Eat!”_. Although the process of chewing had been a bit painful (given Sarah’s freshly bitten lip), the roll had been surprisingly delicious. It’d sort of reminded her of an egg custard dumpling she’d once had a dim sum restaurant; delectably sweet bread with a luscious, creamy filling. As soon as the first scrumptious bite had slid down her throat, Sarah’s Stomach had roared to life with an embarrassingly loud growl, rudely reminding her that she’d skipped breakfast. 

Weech had only given a gruff nod of approval and had hopped back down from the counter to offer Hoggle one of the amazing grey roll things. Sarah had practically hoovered hers down by the time Hoggle had only gotten two bites into is. She’d been just about to ask Weech if she might have another, when a putrid smell had barreled up her nostrils, banishing food from her mind altogether. Horrifyingly enough, it had smelled rather like a bag of old, sweaty gym socks, mingled with the nose-assaulting aroma of a long-dead skunk; basically, the last thing anyone would ever want to smell in a kitchen, or much of anywhere for that matter. It hadn’t been Bog of Eternal Stench bad, but it hadn’t been a treat for her olfactory system either. 

Just when Sarah had turned to ask Hoggle if he’d known the source of the nauseating stink, a young male goblin walked passed, who’d seemed to be where the nostril-hair-singeing scent was originating from. Simply put, the goblin had been an utterly disgusting mess; his skin a sickly shade of yellowish green and every inch that hadn’t been covered by clothing or armor, had been dotted with puss-dripping red blisters. Hoggle must have seen the look of evident alarm-mingled disgust on her face, because he had then whispered, “That’s Stench. He’s Weech’s assistant. I heard he use to go by _Bob_ , or somethin’ like that before he developed a case of chronic Goblin Pox. He gots the kind that ain’t contagious, so no worries.”

“They let him work around food like that?” Sarah had gaped, completely dumbfounded as she’d watched the puss-blistered goblin walk over to one of the blazing hearths and begin to stir a pot of stew, while Weech had barked a stream of orders at him, seemingly nonplused by her assistant’s alarming condition. 

“Yeah, Jareth tried to have him replaced a while ago, but Weech threatened to retire. She claims that Stench is a culinary genius or somethin’ and refuses to work without him. So everyone just deals with… _that_ ,” Hoggle had then gestured over to Stench, whose nose had started to drip a revolting grayish fluid, as he’d gone about his stirring. 

Sarah’s stomach had then given a queasy, lurching heave. Unfortunately, having been so close to the heat of the hearth’s fire made Stench’s, well… _stench_ , a million times worse. 

“Um, yeah…you’re right. Jareth isn’t here. Let’s go,” Sarah had gasped, eyes watering and practically bolted from the kitchens before she made them even less sanitary, by barfing right on the floor.

After the kitchens, Sarah and Hoggle had searched the throne room, which had been all but empty, except for a few drunken goblins who had appeared to have been coercing a goat to drink from a proffered tankard. Jareth’s quarters had also been frustratingly absent one condescending, sexist-portrait-hanging king. Presently, she and Hoggle were just aimlessly wandering the castle’s cold, winding corridors, as Sarah sporadically shouted out a demand for Jareth to show himself. Said demand, of course, went callously ignored; all the while Sarah shivered (with her icy hands buried deep in the pockets of her peacoat), due to the frigid draft that permeated the castle halls.

Good lord! It was even colder than the last time she’d come to the Goblin Castle. One would think that with all Jareth’s power, he could better heat his own freaking home! However, Sarah wouldn’t at all put it past the haughty jerk to purposely leave most of the castle as cold as the Arctic Circle itself, just so he could torture his resident subjects, simply for the pure sadistic pleasure of making others needlessly suffer.

 _Ugh! I’m really starting to miss how hot the kitchens were…Stupid Goblin King…stupid freezing castle!_  
Sarah inwardly grumbled and resisted the petty impulse to randomly flip-off the empty air in front of her. 

Sarah knew the rat-bastard was watching. He was **always** watching. During the audience a month prior, he’d actually admitted that nothing went on in his kingdom without his knowledge.

 _Oh, you’re probably loving this, aren’t you Jareth? Smug asshole!_  
Sarah fumed, her anger ratcheting a few notches higher for being denied the satisfaction of a confrontation. 

Yet at the same time, Sarah felt the contradicting heated tinge of embarrassment, bloom tellingly on her cheeks. She’d totally lost it back in the portrait room. She’d thoroughly gone Faye Dunaway in _Mommy Dearest_ ( _“No more wire hangers!”_ ), level of crazy. Why did she always let Jareth push her buttons like that? She’d worked so damn hard to resist her old habit-driven impulse to dissolve into a shouting, tantrum throwing mess, whenever things didn’t go her way. 

Ever since her first visit to the Labyrinth, Sarah had made it a point to curb that particularly childish urge and yet, every single time she’d recently encountered that royal jerkwad of a Goblin King, she’d let him squirm right under her skin and manipulate her emotions like a master puppeteer. Nope, never again. It was Jareth’s M.O. to try and goad her; to use her emotional weaknesses against her. 

No more! From that point on, Sarah firmly resolved to keep her cool, despite whatever manipulative antics _His Royal Jerk-Face_ tossed her way. If she was going to get through it all, with both her sanity and dignity intact, she had to remain rational. No more tantrums, no more giving that rat-bastard the satisfaction of watching her unravel like a poorly knitted sweater.

“What’s this?” Sarah asked Hoggle when the corridor they’d taken led them right to a massive, wooden double door, which had hundreds of rudimentary carvings scratched into its weathered surface.

The door’s amateur-looking artwork portrayed various scenes of goblin battles, goblins building undefinable looking objects, goblins firing other goblins out of cannons, goblins doing questionable things to chickens, so on and so forth. 

“Oh, this ain’t nothin.’ Just the _Great Hall of Unconventional and Useless Objects_. It’s basically where the castle goblins toss their old junk or failed experiments. The King won’t be in-” Hoggle began, but was cut off by a loud, echoing creak as Sarah ignored his attempted protest, yanked open one of the doors and barged right in.

She’d get nowhere not checking places just because Jareth wasn’t likely to be there. In fact, she reasoned, it was a distinct possibility that he was more than likely somewhere he thought no one would think to check. She just had to stay positive and determined. If she stayed focused, she was bound to find that royal jerk and demand some answers. Frustratingly enough though, once again, it appeared Hoggle knew better. As the wall sconces flared to life and Sarah took in the vast expanse of unusual clutter all around her, she saw that the room was completely void of any other inhabitants, Goblin Kings or otherwise.

“Damn…” Sarah sighed, gingerly rubbing the battered skin of the split knuckles of her left hand.

Her self-caused injuries were **really** starting to hurt. Her lip throbbed with a stinging pulsating ache, the knuckles of both hands felt as if she’d been attempting to tenderize a block of granite with her fists and a wicked beast of a headache had started a dull _pound, pound, pound_ , right behind her eyes. 

_Ugh…so much for staying positive._  
Sarah thought, with a generous dose of bitterness.

 _Just started my first visit and already everything has gone to hell in handbasket._

“See, told ya, he ain’t here,” Hoggle groused, as he stepped into the cluttered, windowless space.

“Yeah, yeah…” Sarah sighed, as she appraised her surroundings.

All about the vast room, there were gadgets, doodads, and knickknacks of all shapes, sizes, and colors, most of which she had no clue as to their purpose. A heaping miscellaneous of items were piled on tables, stone slabs, displayed upon wall-mounted shelves, or just stacked in various piles right on the floor. Along one wall, not far from where she stood, Sarah spotted what appeared to be a giant ball of yarn, of varying, vibrant colors. It towered over Sarah’s Five Foot Five frame, and despite her surly mood, she had to take a minute to marvel at how long it must have taken to create. Next to that, sat what she surmised to be a massive, lumpy replica of the Goblin Castle, made out of…(what was that?)...wads of previously chewed gum?! 

Sarah’s lip involuntarily curled with distaste, as she looked over the gum-wad _art_. Well, she had to give it to the _artist_ , although they’d chosen a rather gross medium in which to work, it was a surprisingly accurate depiction of the castle. Although, she quickly withdrew her previous mental criticism of the gum art being distasteful, when her eyes landed on a lumpy, yellow (vaguely human-ish), looking sculpture, which sat beside the chewing gum castle replica.

“Om my god…is that…?” Sarah began, feeling her previous state of nausea begin to return.

“Yup. It’s goblin earwax,” Hoggle nodded.

“Ugh! Seriously? It’s almost as tall as me! How many ears were picked in order to make that… _thing_?"

“No idea, probably don’t wanna know either. What’s kinda funny bout’ it though, is that I think it’s supposed to be Jareth,” Hoggle told her, a wry grin tugging at his wrinkled mouth.

Sarah carefully regarded the lumpy, revolting creation. The more she looked, certain similarities suddenly jumped out at her from the awful, waxy mass. Yup…the earwax rendering seemed to bare a distinctive overlarge nose and what she supposed could pass for a shock of crazy hair, it even had what appeared to be a crotch bulge. 

“Oh wow…” Sarah breathed, “I don’t know whether to laugh or puke.” 

“I suppose either would be an appropriate reaction,” Hoggle shrugged.

“So gross…” Sarah shuddered and eagerly stepped away from the disgusting _sculpture_. 

Her gaze, eager to take in something less barf-inducing, suddenly snagged on one of the most unusual pieces of weaponry Sarah had ever laid eyes on. It was mounted up on the wall, just a few feet away from the nasty goblin artwork, right between what appeared to be a hugely oversized hatpin (with some sort of wiry _hair_ astonishingly growing atop its lifeless surface) and an undefinable, clunky metal contraption, with a ragged parchment tag hanging from it, bearing the stupefying phrase _Unwarmable Rat-Tickling Device._ Sarah dismissed the ridiculous items with a passing glance and instead, perused the intriguing object that had initially captured her interest. 

“Whoa…what’s this?” Sarah asked, gaping at what looked to be a massive longsword, with a bizarre, twisting blade that undeniably resembled the curving length of a snake.

The sword’s weird, green-tinged metal only further added to the snakelike appearance of the blade. The thing was huge! The blade itself was easily over two feet long, not to mention the added length of its overly elongated black, leather-wrapped, grip. 

_How would anyone even lift that thing?_

“Oh, this right here is actually the whole reason _The Great Hall of Unconventional and Useless Objects_ was ever built. This would be the legendary _Serpent Sword of Elmerillion_ ,” Hoggle informed her with a nod towards the odd weapon.

“Well, the name is fitting, that’s for sure. I’m guessing that since it has legendary status, there’s a story behind it,” Sarah prompted, desperately needing a distraction from her simmering anger towards the Goblin King, as well as the throbbing pain of her abused knuckles, stinging lip and ever-worsening headache.

“Well, the story goes…that back, long before _The Rat_ was ever born, in the time of his grandsire, King Casden, there was a goblin warrior by the name of Loph. Loph, for one reason or another, supposedly had a feud with a troll called Isk, also known as _The Grey-Legged Wanderer from the Murks of Threll_. One day Loph decided to challenge Isk to a duel. That very same day, Loph was gifted with the Serpent Sword by the _White Wizard of Elfin Mire_ , who supposedly told Loph that he’d had a vision of the duel bout’ to transpire and that Loph should wield The Serpent Sword against Isk.”

“Unfortunately for Loph, he’d been too distracted by the blade and had been strugglin’ so hard to lift it, that Isk ripped his head clean off his shoulders before he’d so much as gotten the blade to point upright. The Serpent Sword was later recovered from the scene of the duel, by a group of scout goblins who’d supposedly seen the whole thing. They'd been too damn scared of Isk to come out during the duel, so they'd hid behind a rock until the troll was gone. Isk, even bein’ a troll an all, was smart enough to know a useless hunk of junk when he saw one, so he’d left the Serpent Sword right where it fell.”

“Goblins, however, ain't that smart. The scout goblins hauled it back to the castle, so King Casden could look it over. He declared it to be nothin’ but a waste of good steel, even if it had been forged by a Wizard. He'd recommended it be thrown into the _Bog of Eternal Stench_ , pitched into the _Yawning Chasm of Nothingness_ or buried deep within the bowls of the blackest, most desolate oubliette. The goblins, however, insisted that it was too shiny and impressive lookin’ and wanted to keep it. Yet they’d no good place to put it. The armory was over cluttered as it was and being that the sword was found to be utterly useless, Casden reasoned that it couldn’t be kept in the same place as actual functioning weapons, lest some poor soul make the same deadly mistake Loph did.”

“So King Casden, being a monarch who appreciated any form of organization in his usually chaotic castle, declared that there should be a holdin’ space, just for useless and strange things found in his kingdom, like the Serpent Sword. So he went and created this place, and as you can see, the goblins have put it to good use. Moral of the story, goblins are a brainless lot, and even wizards can be jerks with a nasty sense of humor,” Hoggle finished the tale with a shrug.

Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Yeah, I guess that would be the general takeaway,” She nodded and raised her hand just above her head, so as to run her tentative fingers along the bizarre, twisting green steel of the Serpent Sword’s blade.

Something about the weird piece of hulking weaponry intrigued her. Even if the _White Wizard of Elfin Mire_ had just been a jerk with a shitty sense of humor, why go to all the trouble of forging something so…complicated looking? Then again, Sarah supposed that had probably been part of the intended joke, as tasteless as it was. Just as her reaching finger’s made contact with the blade, she wondered if perhaps the White Wizard had been nursing some unknown grudge towards Loph. Maybe that’s why he’d gone to all the bother of creating an insanely elaborate weapon. Maybe…

 _“Aaah!”_ Sarah let out a sudden, strangled yelp and snatched her hand back, “What the hell was that?!” 

What had just been frigid, lifeless steel beneath her questing fingers had, for a split-second, been scorching hot and…pulsating…

“What?! What happened? Did ya cut yourself on that oversized paperweight?” Hoggle gasped, immediately pulling Sarah’s hands down, so as to inspect them.

“No…it’s just that, for a second there…the thing felt like it burned me! It also felt like it might have…moved?” Sarah breathed shakily, looking at the unmarred skin of her fingers with open bafflement.

_I don’t understand…it burnt me! It hurt like hell…_

“Burned ya? Girl, ain’t nothing in this room above the temperature of a block of ice! Look, I can see my own breath puffin’ right in front of me!” Hoggle groused, releasing Sarah’s hands with an exasperated shake of his head. “Come on; we need to get ya to your chambers, where there’ll be a warm fire waiting. You had a pretty big shock with that paintin’ an all. We’ve been wandering for a while now, and I suspect you ain’t had nothing to eat cept’ that cream roll Weech gave ya, back in the kitchens. Also, don’t help none that it’s colder than a she-troll’s teat!” 

Hoggle visibly shivered and tugged at the fur-lined collar of his red embroidered coat, trying to get the piece of pelt-lined fabric, to better cover the exposed skin of his neck. Well, if nothing else, at least Jareth had actually followed through with giving Hoggle seasonally appropriate clothing, Sarah noted absently. The stress-induced fatigue was beginning to make her eyelids droop, and her whole body feel as if it had been dipped in lead. All the adrenaline-fueled anger from that stupid, petty power move of a painting, had burned right through her. It left her feeling like nothing short of a thoroughly squeezed-out tube of toothpaste. 

Sarah tried in vain to summon some of her previous fire; to rally her spirits; to push forward and continue her rage-induced march through the Goblin Castle, in search of the crazy-haired, cocky source of her ire. Disappointingly enough, however, she found that the only things she currently felt were stomach gnawing hunger and the biting cold of their frigid surroundings. Not to mention, the combined pulsating throbs of pain throughout her body…and of course, there was the undeniable and incessant pull of exhaustion. 

It had been bad enough dealing with the lingering effects of Karen’s sleeping pill, but added to currently being emotionally wrung-out…it made Sarah’s bones feel as if they were turning to jelly beneath the confines of her skin. Her head also felt as if it had been weighted down with rocks because she was currently losing the battle of keeping it upright. As much as it galled her, Sarah knew Hoggle was right. She needed warmth, food and rest. 

What good would it do her to confront Jareth in her current state? What would she do? Feebly bat at him with a limp wrist, before dozing off? Oh, he’d probably love that! The rat-bastard would probably laugh himself silly! Besides, Sarah had promised herself that she would approach the situation with a cool head, the next time she faced Jareth. How could she possibly hope do that when she was an outright mess?

Sarah was in no condition to tangle with the Goblin King and that was simply all there was to it, no matter how she wished otherwise. Hell, apparently she was so bad off, she was hallucinating and conjuring up phantom sensations! Ruefully, Sarah glanced down to the undebatable sate of her clearly unburnt fingers. No scorch marks, no blisters. The skin wasn’t heat damaged in the slightest. Maybe the pity currently glimmering in Hoggle’s eyes wasn’t so misplaced. Maybe she really was so emotionally and physically strung-out, that she was half out of her mind. Yeah, that wasn’t good; not good at all. 

“Alright…show me where I’ll be staying,” Sarah sighed in temporary concession. 

_I’m not giving up…just regrouping._

“I’m not letting this go. I’m not dropping this. You hear me, Goblin King?” Sarah muttered groggily, into the arctic air of the vast hall.

She wasn’t quite sure if she had imagined things again, when a faint, echoing laugh made its way to her ears. Who really cared? He could laugh at her all he wanted…for the time being anyway. Just because she was stuck in a deal with the devil himself, didn’t mean she couldn’t also make said devil’s life a living hell. With a faint smile of inward resolve resting on her lips, Sarah followed Hoggle out of _Great Hall of Unconventional and Useless Objects_.

* * *

“Here, we are,” Hoggle gestured for Sarah to proceed him through the ornate door he’d just opened.

The door, looking to be made from some sort of burnished copper, was etched with whirling fleur-de-lis and was, to say the least, absolutely lovely. Vaguely Sarah recalled glimpsing it earlier when she’d angrily stormed to Jareth’s room. In fact, if she remembered correctly, the Goblin King’s chamber was just one door down; a thought that had a deep set frown instantly pulling at her lips. On the one hand, sooner or later Jareth would have to return to his room, giving her the perfect opportunity to confront him about his little art display. On the other hand, having him so close to where she would be sleeping, for the next two weeks, made Sarah undeniably nervous for about a billion different reasons.

 _Just don’t think about all that right now…_  
She mentally scolded herself and wearily trudged through the open door.

The first thing Sarah noticed when she entered the cheerfully lit room, was that it was warm, wonderfully so. Oh god, it smelled of roses and gingerbread! 

_Mmmm!_

Before she’d noticed a single bit of furnishing or décor, Sarah briefly closed her eyes and let out a faint groan of appreciation at how amazing it felt to finally be out of those damned frigid, damp smelling corridors. When Sarah opened her eyes, her disbelieving gaze took in what looked to be a chunk of the palace of Versailles that had somehow miraculously managed to embed its jaw-dropping opulence within the drab gloom of the Goblin Castle. All around her was a gold-gilded, flowery Rococo fantasy that practically sang out to every girlish, feminine impulse she had to gasp, giggle in delight and throw her arms wide in awe. 

Sarah did none of those things though. She outright refused to give Jareth the satisfaction. He couldn’t pull the kind of bullshit he’d pulled with the painting and just expect her to melt and swoon because he’d given her a nice room, but **wow** , what a room it was! _Nice_ was actually a gross understatement; the understatement of the century probably. Carefully schooling her features into a mask of bland indifference, Sarah slowly drank in the stunning extravagance around her.

She stood in the center of an utterly incredible sitting room, which was lit via high wall-mounted oil lamps and was bedecked with delicate looking, gold gilded furniture; most of which was upholstered in a lovely powder blue velveteen. A large velveteen sofa sat along the far wall, flanked by two matching armchairs. A low white and gold coffee table (topped with cream-colored marble), sat a few feet from the sofa; it’s shining surface displaying a tempting array of treats. There was a silver tiered tray of delicate pastel macaroons, a crystal bowl brimming with fresh cherries and several porcelain platters bearing an array of various pastries. What looked to be some sort of peach tart, was piled in abundance on the largest of the platters, effectively snagging Sarah’s eye. 

_Ugh…peach…_

Her lip involuntarily curled with distaste, despite the simultaneous, telling growl of her stomach.

The fruit-topped confections looked absolutely mouthwatering, but Sarah would be damned if she indulged in peach _anything_ , ever again; especially while under Jareth’s roof. No doubt the pastries had been specifically selected, only to further ruffle her feathers.

 _Asshole._  
Sarah mentally groused and pointedly took a gingersnap from a tray alongside the taunting peach creations, bitterly chewing the cookie with much more force than necessary.

Trying not to react to the buttery, ginger-flavored decadence that danced along her tongue and gloriously melted in her mouth, Sarah silently continued her visual pursuit of the sitting room. Across from the sofa sat a cream colored, two-person settee, skillfully embroidered with shining gold fleur-de-lis. A plump, overstuffed ottoman, upholstered in powder blue satin (the exact same shade of the velveteen armchairs and sofa), was pushed up against the settee’s right side. To the left of the settee, was a high standing marble-topped end table, made of white wood, with flowered gold accents. It was a lovely match to the treat-laden coffee table. 

Atop the end table, tea service for one had been laid out. A shining, rose-embossed silver teapot sat on the end table’s center, an unused china cup and matching saucer to its left; both painted in a pattern of pretty blue and yellow rosebuds. A dainty silver bowl filled with sugar cubes and a matching creamer were to the teapot’s right. Sarah had to forcibly tamp down the urge to immediately pour herself a cup of the enticing rose scented brew, wafting from the fancy teapot’s spout. Past experience with the Goblin King had taught her to study her surroundings before dropping her guard thoroughly. 

Sarah’s eyes continued to dart around the lavish room, noting each detail with something akin to shocked disbelief. Each piece had obviously been carefully selected to complement every other object residing within the room. A careful and seasoned eye had most definitely been implemented. Sarah couldn’t help but admire the beautifully embroidered, rose-patterned runners in creams, baby blues and cheerful buttery yellows, placed strategically around the space; acting as the perfect accents to the highly polished blonde wood floor. 

The heavy looking midnight blue drapes, thoroughly covering the wide window (on the wall to her immediate left), provided a striking contrast to the delicate pastels and soothing creams that made up the majority of the sitting room’s décor. For a split-second, Sarah entertained the idea of approaching the lone window and throwing its drapes wide. She hadn’t yet encountered a single uncovered window in her pursuit of Jareth. The musty drapes in the throne room had been drawn (presumably to preserve heat) and she couldn’t even rightly recall if the drapes had been drawn, back when she’d answered Jareth’s summons in December. She’d been much too wrung-out over the many threats and high-stress levels of her situation to notice. If the Goblin King’s chamber even had any windows to speak of, Sarah hadn’t noticed. She’d only given Jareth’s room a quick once-over and had then stormed out when she’d found it to be frustratingly vacant. 

So as Sarah eyed the dark blue draped window of her rococo themed sitting room, her curiosity as to what Jareth’s land looked like in the winter, was properly quipped. However, once she fully took in the bafflingly elaborate murals painted on all four of the walls of her surroundings, Sarah found all further curiosity regarding the outside scenery, to be completely forgotten for the time being. 

On the wall housing the window she’d just been eyeing, was a fair-sized rendering of the hedge-maze portion of the Labyrinth; roughly in the area in which she’d encountered the dozing Wiseman and then a short while later, had saved Ludo from those vicious guards. On the far wall, just above the sofa, was a positively enormous depiction of the Labyrinth’s silvery woods. Sarah instantly recognized it as the very same woods she and her friends had journeyed through, just before she’d bitten into Jareth’s little _present_ of the drugged peach. 

Despite the unpleasant memory the stunning work of art evoked upon first glance, Sarah had to admit (even grudgingly), that it was beyond beautiful. The artist had even captured the lavender-kissed, blush pink haze of twilight, which she recalled glimpsing through the leafy bows of the trees, as she’d trudged on in her quest to reach Toby. 

On the opposite wall, artfully painted around the gilded archway, which Sarah guessed led to the rest of her quarters, was a gorgeous garden scene. It boasted a riot of colorful blooms of all sorts. Iridescent winged faeries were portrayed flying about the plethora of flora and fauna. A fountain, featuring a stone satyr playing a set of panpipes, was rendered off to the left side of the mural; the distinctive turrets of the Goblin Castle were painted to the right. It seemed that the scene was a depiction of an actual location somewhere within the castle grounds and Sarah made a mental note to ask Hoggle about it…later. At the present moment, all she could manage to do was continue to gawk at the breath-stealing displays of raw talent surrounding her.

On the wall to her immediate right, which housed the burnished copper door Sarah had walked through just moments before, was a depiction of woodland creatures, frolicking in the tall spring grass of a meadow. Sarah couldn’t help the light smile that tweaked at the corners of her mouth, as she gazed fondly at the adorable portrayal of fox cubs, long-legged does and scampering field mice, rendered on either side of the fleur-de-lis etched door. However, her smile was quickly replaced by a withering scowl, as soon as she spotted a watchful barn owl painted perching on a low tree stump, amidst the frolicking wildlife.

 _Of course Jareth the jerkface would have a reference to himself put in!_

With a prolonged roll of her eyes, Sarah sulkily finished the rest of the gingersnap she’d been clutching in her hand.

“Fancy, ain’t it?” Hoggle suddenly remarked, causing her to startle with a hissing gasp, nearly choking on the last bite of her cookie.

In all her baffled awe over the beautiful quarters that she’d been unexpectedly provided with, Sarah had completely missed the fact that the dwarf had been standing right beside her all along.

“Oh! Yeah…sorry. Just a bit jumpy. This is all…a bit much,” she replied with a shaky breath.

 _A bit much, but impossibly cool!_  
Sarah bit her tongue from saying that part aloud.

She’d sooner wade through the Bog of Eternal Stench than admit she was impressed by anything Jareth had arranged.

“Oh, you ain’t seen the half of it yet!” Hoggle cackled and ushered her through the gilded archway of the garden scene wall. 

It was then, when she stepped fully into the room beyond, that Sarah’s shoddy attempt to appear as if she wasn’t completely dazzled by her newly appointed chambers, totally fell apart. 

“Oh…my…god…” she gaped, open-mouthed and spluttering, like an out-of-water fish.

“I know, it’s somethin’ else. That’s for sure,” Hoggle conceded, sounding just a bit awed himself.

 _“Somethin’ else”_ didn’t even begin to describe it! The utterly gorgeous sitting room they’d just exited, absolutely paled in comparison to the mind-blowing decadence currently surrounding her.

“What…in…the world…” was all Sarah could manage to gasp out, as she inched forward; the rubber soles of her sneakers barely making a sound on the immaculate white marble floor beneath her feet.

It was like a dream; something she’d never imagined she would even get to glimpse the like of in person, much less get to live in temporarily. Sarah didn’t even know where to begin. The entire room could have quite comfortably fit about five rooms the size of her bedroom at home! The wood-paneled walls were painted a deep blue-grey, the color of a stormy night sky. Each panel was divided by an ornate outline of brilliant gold fleur-de-lis molding. Evidently, the French Rococo theme had been carried into this portion of her chambers as well; except on such a grand scale that Sarah half expected the ghost of Marie Antoinette herself to go traipsing by.

Before she could so much as blink twice, Sarah found her attention instantly caught by the shockingly grand fantasy of a bed, which dominated the far side of the room. She was nearly across the room, on her way to get a better look at it, before she even realized that she’d moved. It was substantially bigger than her little twin bed at home; a king-size (possibly larger) and Sarah’s mind boggled at the prospect of having all that extra room to stretch out on. Although, the bed’s size alone was far from the most impressive thing about it. 

The whole thing was adorned in heavy embroidered satin and luxurious silk, all in luscious creams and decadent golds. The frame itself was a four-poster and made of gold painted wood, intricately carved with looping vines and budding flowers; the top of each towering post accented with frothing tiered plumes of white ostrich feathers. The headboard was made of quilted gold silk and was framed by the same ornate molding as on the walls. Plump cream and gold roll pillows, as well as small square pillows made of white lace, were piled high against the cushioned headboard. Sarah longed to bury her face in their promised softness. 

The real _showstopper_ however, was the circular canopy that hung, suspended by a thick gold chain from the ceiling, roughly eight feet from the mattress. It provided the bed with a cover of pale cream embroidered drapes that flowed down in four separate sections, from the canopy’s gold gilded, crown-like topper. Each section of cascading drapery was secured to one of the bed frame’s tall posts via dangling gold tasseled tiebacks. It looked like something straight from the pages of a history book; as if it had been snatched right from seventeenth-century France.

“Holy moly…” Sarah whispered reverently, as she came to stand directly beside the extravagant piece of furniture, reaching out to trace a dangling tassel of one of the tiebacks, with a slightly trembling finger.

“A bed fit for a queen,” Hoggle remarked, his tone heavy with chagrin.

“Yeah…” Sarah murmured absently, far too wowed to properly process anything other than her own awed shock.

“You’ve only really looked at the bed, and already yer brain is scrambled. Guess _the Rat_ really outdid himself this time,” Hoggle snorted.

The words, _“only really looked at the bed,”_ managed to penetrate Sarah’s marveled trance. With a blink and a slight shake of her head, she turned her wide gaze to properly take in the rest of the room.

All further thoughts fled the recesses of Sarah’s skull as she studied the massive gold and white marble-topped vanity, sprawling along one wall, not far from the bed. The vanity’s shining surface was decked with bottles and small glass pots of every imaginable color, shape, and size. An antique gold comb and brush set was laid front and center of the all the cosmetic clutter. For an instant, Sarah almost entertained giving into the impulse to seat herself on the vanity stool’s ivory silk cushion and further inspect the table’s myriad of glimmering offerings; perhaps even take down her hair and brush it out in front of enormous gilded mirror, rimmed with gold enameled flowers and fan-tailed peacocks.

“Look, ya also got some friends over there,” Hoggle gestured to the other side of the room where a large gold claw-footed birdcage sat, flanking an ivory silk fainting couch. 

Sarah headed over to the cage and couldn’t help the wide grin of unabashed delight that split her lips.

“Oh! Aren’t you two sweet!” Sarah cooed at what looked like a pair of albino lovebirds, with unusual dark crimson wingtips and breasts. “My Granny Williams had a pair of lovebirds, back when she was still alive. They were the typical bright green, with pink patches, though. They were such darling little things, and I just loved them. Their names were Peaches and Herb. I was totally heartbroken when my dad let my aunt Susan take them back home to California with her after Granny died. These though…I’ve never seen anything like them. I didn’t even think lovebirds could have coloring like that.”

“I don’t know much about birds, but I’m willing to bet that nothing you’ll find out in nature will look quite like these. Thems probably unique, knowing how much Jareth likes to show off with his magic an all,” Hoggle nodded towards the cage.

“Hello there,” Sarah murmured to the beautiful little things, so instantly enamored that she temporarily forgot all about being hungry, tired, having various aches and pains, as well as wanting to turn the Goblin King into her own personal piñata. 

“I think I’ll call you… Napoleon and Josephine. Fitting names, considering the vintage French surroundings,” Sarah nodded, “Better than calling you Marie and Louis, considering what happened to them. Although, Napoleon and Josephine ended up divorcing…and Napoleon died in exile, of stomach cancer…and Josephine died of pneumonia later on, but why split hairs?” 

The lovebirds only blinked at her, cocking their snowy heads in curiosity.

“Nice digs, he has us in, huh? Pretty swanky. So much for thinking he would set me up in a rat-hole,” Sarah continued her one-sided conversation with the lovebirds.

She couldn’t help but giggle when both birds hopped over to the perch in their cage that was the closest to where she stood. The silly little things hopped in place, fluffing their wings with excitement as if they were pleased to see her; just like her granny’s birds had always done.

“Yet…” she sighed, fear-laced reason beginning to worm its way through her newly found little piece of happiness, “Why do I have the feeling that I’m every bit as trapped in a cage as the two of you?”

“Hey, enough’a that. You ain’t trapped. This is just a…temporary setback. You’ll see,” Hoggle came to stand behind her, gently patting her hand in commiseration, “Come on, ya haven’t seen everything yet.” 

Before Sarah could even utter a protest, Hoggle began to pull her over to the corner, where a large gold harp sat, with an array of oversized silken cushions in powder blue and milky ivory, scattered around it; as if indented for people to lounge upon while they listened to the harp’s plinking melody.

“Guess this’ll just be for show. I don’t play, and even if I did, there isn’t a bench or stool to sit on. Whenever I see these played in the movies, the lady playing it is always sitting,” Sarah remarked with a wry twist of her lips.

“You don’t have to play it. It plays itself,” Hoggle grinned and eagerly plucked a string.

No sooner had the string been strummed, the harp suddenly broke out into a lilting rendition of what Sarah instantly recognized as _Green Sleeves_. 

“Oh! No Way!” Sarah gasped, “That’s too cool!”

“Just strumming it, or pluckin’ it, activates the magic. It’ll play music at random if left be until you press against the strings with the flat of yer palm and command it to stop,” Hoggle informed her.

“Whoa…” Sarah openly gaped in wonder at the enchanted instrument; its strings plucking along merrily, all by themselves, as if strummed by an invisible hand.

She had a magic harp! An actual, freaking **magic harp**! How many people could say that?! There was a guy who had been a senior at her school the previous year. His dad was the head of some big shot company and had bought him a cherry red _Ferrari_ as a graduation present. Everyone she knew, herself included, had envied that guy. Suddenly Sarah couldn’t help but smugly think to herself that while the _Ferrari Guy_ did, in fact, have a _Ferrari_ , she was willing to bet a million bucks that he didn’t have a magic harp!

“It’s also charmed to play any song in existence. If you don’t want to just let it play at random, all ya have to do is ask for a specific song, once you’ve activated it,” Hoggle told her, “Go ahead. Ask for a song. Pick somethin’ you think it would never know.”

Her mind-boggling with this new bit of information, Sarah took a steadying breath and picked her brain for just the right song, “Okay harp…play… _Little Red Corvette_.”

To her utter disbelief, the lilting melody of _Green Sleeves_ gave way to the distinctive tune of her favorite Prince song. The sound of _Little Red Corvette_ being played as an instrumental harp rendition was enough to make Sarah throw back her head and laugh with delight, despite the lingering ache behind her eyes.

_So much for not showing that you like the room! Great job on the not acting impressed thing._

“Hey Hoggle, why are all the drapes drawn over every single window in this room, as well as in the sitting room?” Sarah asked as she eyed the cream colored drapes, which fully covered the room’s six towering windows, anything to throw her mind from its current and rather uncomfortable, train of thought. 

“Oh, well I spose’ it may be for dramatic effect,” Hoggle replied with an easy shrug.

“Dramatic effect?” she asked, arching a brow in confusion.

“So when you get a look at the view out on the balcony, it’ll properly blow ya away,” the dwarf told her, a ghost of a sly grin playing upon his lips.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Which way is the balcony?” Sarah asked, as she placed her palm to the harp’s still plinking strings and issued a quick “Stop please,” before hurrying over to a pair of gorgeous stained glass double-doors, the second Hoggle pointed a stubby finger in their direction. 

If it weren’t for the sudden and rather fierce flare of curiosity burning white-hot inside her, Sarah might have lingered a bit and admired the sheer mastery that had obviously gone into creating the colorful display of flowers and preening peacocks that the magnificent doors were composed of. Instead, she threw them wide and darted outside. When she caught sight of the scenery just outside her room, it was a long moment before she remembered to breathe once again.

“Whoa Nelly…” Sarah gasped, as she took in the sight of the Labyrinth sprawling out before her; its snow-covered twists and turns glinting in the dull winter sunshine.

Yet it wasn’t the sight of the Labyrinth bedecked in all its wintertime glory that made her brain feel like it was short-circuiting within her skull. Everything around the Labyrinth was different, like **way** different! Where was the desolate wasteland? Where was the endless, dusty nothing that she clearly remembered surrounding Jareth’s kingdom? When she had first come to the Goblin Realm, to get Toby back, there had been nothing else in the vast ocean of red-orange dirt. There had only been the twisting expanse of the Labyrinth, laid out like a lone island before her. 

With her eyes practically bulging out of her head, Sarah gaped at the towering, snow-blanketed mountain range that loomed in the distance; like a sleeping stone giant beneath a plush, white quilt. Where the hell had that been before?! Where had any of it been before? All beyond the outer walls of the Labyrinth, there were snow-spotted forests and white rolling winter hills. There was a whole other world out there!

“Oh you should see yer face! I was right! Drawing the curtains, so you could see it all at once, was brilliant! Your expression is priceless!” Hoggle cackled with laughter, as he strolled through the open balcony doors.

“What the hell?!” Sarah gaped, whirling on her heels to face him; feeling more than a bit exasperated. 

Why was he laughing? She didn’t find it funny in the least! She felt like she was losing her goddamn mind!

“Why is it different?! There wasn’t anything out there before! Now there’s all of… **this**!” She gestured wildly to the scenery looming in front of them. 

“Just because you saw nothin’ before, didn’t mean there wasn’t anything out there,” Hoggle reiterated drily, and Sarah had to suppress the urge shake the snark right out of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I saw what I saw! Ugh! This place and the way it always messes with my head!” Sarah shouted, her hands balling to fists of nerve-riddled frustration.

It was kind of like the time during her Labyrinth run when she’d discovered that someone had been changing all of her cleverly placed lipstick marks, only times a thousand, because this time, someone had changed the entire freaking world around her!

“I’m sorry. It ain’t funny. I was wrong to spring it on ya like that. When you first came here, you were glamoured to see nothin’ but the Labyrinth. All runners are. It’s kind of an unspoken rule, you might say. It’s a tradition that goes way back to the first ever Goblin King. Runners aren’t supposed to have any other options. They come to run the Labyrinth, and that’s it. If they could see that there was a whole big world around em’ they would more than likely stray off course, which could give them an unfair advantage. That’s the reason the Kings of the past always gave anyway,” Hoggle informed her, his face falling into a crumpled frown of regret.

“Ha! Unfair advantage?! You mean unfair like that rat-bastard sicking his goons on me whenever I got even slightly ahead? Unfair like him manipulating time, so **I** would get less of it? Unfair like him purposely not telling me that if I stayed past thirteen hours, I wouldn’t even be human anymore? Unfair like him freaking drugging me??? That kind of unfair advantage?!” Sarah seethed. 

“Now, now, don’t get yer feathers all ruffled. I didn’t say I agreed with him, now did I? It’s just the reason that’s always been given for the runners not being able to see the world beyond the Goblin King’s territory, and I really am sorry about my little joke. Didn’t think it out proper,” Hoggle sighed.

“Yeah…It’s okay. I’m sorry too. I’m not mad at you, just a little overwhelmed I guess,” Sarah mumbled, moving closer to the balcony’s stone railing, so she could lean against it, resting her folded arms upon its cold, hard surface; her eyes once again locked on the view beyond the reach of the Labyrinth’s walls. 

“So, I have to ask, is he really that powerful? Jareth can actually make me see things? I guess I already know the answer to that…after this…and the peach thing,” Sarah sighed, resting her cheek against the pillow of her folded arms, suddenly feeling more than a bit defeated.

How was she ever supposed to best someone who could alter her damn mind? She clamped her lips shut, to keep from wailing about how unfair it all was. If Jareth was watching, she wouldn’t give the slimy weasel the satisfaction.

“From what I knows about the powers of royal Fae, is that they can only control others inside their own world. In your world _The Rat_ can only use very limited glamour, in a way that will influence yer mind. In this world…well, that’s a different story. So yeah, technically here he can make you see things, **but** I don’t think Jareth can do that sort of thing now, with you anyway. Your conditions in the oath did specifically bar him from usin’ any tricks, and Fae glamour counts as a trick. He can’t ask his goblins to glamour ya, they ain’t got that kinda power. So you should be just fine on that account,” Hoggle replied, his tone a little less certain than Sarah would have liked. 

“And as for the matter of the peach…from what I could learn through the castle gossip, he didn’t make ya see things then. The peach didn’t just make you forget stuff; it was also infused with a magic that allowed him to transport you into a small world he created out of one of his own crystals. So at least you was actually there. He wasn’t messin’ with yer mind. Well, at least not in the glamour sense anyway…if that makes you feel any better,” Hoggle said, almost hesitantly and Sarah supposed her friend still felt a tinge of shame whenever he thought of the _“gift”_ he’d given her, as per the request of his king.

Sarah wished she had it in her to reassure Hoggle that he needn’t feel any remaining guilt, However, at that moment, she could scarcely wrap her head around the weighty chunk of information the dwarf had just flung her way; much less appease anyone else’s sense of remorse. After a lengthy pause, Sarah finally took in a shaky breath and turned to look at her friend.

“In a way, I guess it does make me feel a little bit better. At least I finally have a clear-cut explanation for all that peach/ballroom weirdness. I’ve been flip-flopping for months on whether it was a hallucination, a dream…or something else entirely. I’m kinda relieved to have at least one thing cleared up. As for the rest of it…I don’t really know what to think. I guess I shouldn’t be that shocked. I mean, the Goblin King can mess with time. He can conjure crystals out of thin air. He can make music well up out of nowhere. So I really shouldn’t be all that surprised that he’s capable of altering my mind…I’m just…I dunno…tired,” Sarah told him with a halfhearted shrug; her breath puffing out little clouds into the icy winter air.

Now that the earlier excitement over her new room had thoroughly evaporated, Sarah was once again all too aware of the dull throbbing of her head and the irritating sting of her lip and knuckles. The bitter cold biting harshly at her nose and cheeks certainly didn’t help matters either.

“Come on, let’s get ya back inside. You need to sit down and rest for a bit,” Hoggle took her hand, and Sarah allowed herself to be led back through the stained glass doors.

Once again inside the much-appreciated warmth of her quarters, Hoggle shut the balcony doors behind them and ushered Sarah over to an absolutely enormous white marble fireplace. She had briefly glimpsed it earlier, out of the corner of her eye, when she’d been inspecting her new bed. However, at the time, Sarah had been far too distracted by the room’s other wonders to appreciate the stunning piece properly. It was truly nothing short of a breathtaking work of art; that was for sure. The mantle and outer hearth were expertly carved with scenes of galloping unicorns, flying pixies and dancing nymphs; the undulating glow of the flames, inside the confines of the grate, made the carvings appear to almost be moving. 

Sarah recalled glimpsing a similar fixture in the Goblin King’s chamber, but she’d been far too enraged at the time to stop and get a good look at it. 

“Nice ain’t it? The castle has a few of these throughout. A dwarf artesian, from way up in the mountains, did em’ a while back. From what I’ve heard, this room has always had this one, but all the other stuff was done especially for you,” Hoggle shrugged, as if that little snippet of information was of no consequence, but Sarah couldn’t help but baulk in surprise.

“For me? So this was all done in a month?” She turned and openly gaped in disbelief at the extravagant splendor of the room behind her.

“Oh I’m sure one with powers such as Jareth, could have done all this in a few days, perhaps less...but all this was here before I even started working at the castle. From the bits of gossip I heard from the maids, goblins and such, this all came to be before you even ran the labyrinth,” Hoggle replied matter-of-factly.

Sarah didn’t quite know what to do with that bit of information. It stirred an unexpected flurry of contradicting emotions within her, leaving her feeling almost lightheaded. There of course was the part of her that was solely logic based and was further spurred on by her inner sense of right and wrong; the part that told her it didn’t matter how long Jareth had wanted her with him; he had stalked her, manipulated her, had even tampered with her mind…and it was a hundred different shades of **wrong** , period. Then there was the part that took in all the careful planning and thought of what her elaborate accommodations must have required, and damn it all to hell if her heartstrings didn’t ever so lightly tug.

_Ugh…I swear to god, I’m developing Stockholm’s syndrome!_

With an aggravation-choked sigh, Sarah plopped down in one of the two ivory wingback armchairs, which sat before the crackling rose gold flames of the beautifully carved fireplace; her legs suddenly feeling as if they were woefully incapable of supporting her weight any longer. No sooner had she seated herself in the fancy bit of furnishing, did she notice something lumpy and more than a tad uncomfortable beneath her bottom.

“What the heck am I sitting on?” Sarah murmured in irritation, lifting her backside just enough to reach beneath herself and tug the offending object free.

_Oh! Oh my god…_

Sarah stared in wide-eyed shock at the object she’d just extracted, from where it had been wedged beneath the plush cushion of the armchair and her posterior. In her hand, she gripped the fuzzy leg of her beloved stuffed bear Lancelot. Yet it wasn’t actually Lancelot, Sarah surmised upon second glance. The caramel colored bear she held in her hand looked too new; its fur fresh looking and unworn; its orange bow crisp and unfrayed. The bear was also missing the large, splodgy grape juice stain on its belly, which Sarah knew the real Lancelot had received a month prior; thanks to an incident with the poorly screwed-on lid of Toby’s sippy cup.

“Looks like you found the other thing I wanted to show ya earlier, but I let it slip my mind. Gettin’ too old I guess,” Hoggle let out a self-effacing chuckle and nodded towards the bear with a faint smile. “Found him sitting there the other day when I came in here to double check that everything was ready.”

“The Goblin King made me a replica of Lancelot? That’s so…weird…” Sarah murmured.

 _Weird…and kinda bizarrely sweet…_  
Sarah bit her lip, choking back the unspoken words, as her arms involuntarily wrapped around the Lancelot doppelganger; automatically hugging the plush bear close. Truth be told, she loved that the real Lancelot made her little brother so happy, but Sarah would be lying right through her teeth if she ever tried to claim that she didn't dearly miss her old childhood favorite. It really was a sweet gesture...

No! The Goblin King was **not** sweet! Nor was he _“thoughtful,”_ another word that sprung, annoyingly unbidden, in her mind. Jareth was a smarmy creep, who seemed to get off on humiliating and controlling her. The image of that damned painting flared up within her mind’s eye once again, and Sarah found herself clutching the bear in her arms so tight, the joints of her fingers ached and further agitated the pain in her battered knuckles. 

No, none of it made any difference. Jareth could go right on ahead and dress up her gilded cage with all the bells and whistles he could possibly think to conjure from one of his damned crystals, and it still wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. What was done was done…and as Jareth himself had once told her, _what was said was said_. After everything the Goblin King had done, he couldn’t just toss some shiny new things her way and expect her to forgive it all. It just wouldn’t be happening. With that last rueful thought, Sarah dropped the Lancelot look-alike to the floor. 

_Trying to sweeten me up with a blatant play on my sense of sentiment? Nice try! Close, but no cigar!_  
She thought bitterly and stood on annoyingly wobbling legs.

“If you don’t mind, Hoggle…I think I’m going to lie down for a bit,” Sarah informed her friend wearily; every muscle in her body aching in protest to her abandoning the all too comfortable armchair.

“No, not at all. Go right ahead. It’ll prolly do ya a world of good,” Hoggle nodded, “But just so you know…I wasn’t just sayin’ that bit about the King throwing a ball to tonight to distract ya earlier, back in the portrait chamber. He really is throwing some fancy shindig in yer honor. So it’s safe to say, he expects you to be there. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to wake ya, so you can get ready an all.”

With that bit of news, Sarah couldn’t help but let out an exasperated bark of mirthless laughter.

“I don’t really give a damn what he’s planned or what he _expects_ of me. Nowhere in any part of either of our oaths, did it say I was obligated to do anything specific with my time here. I only swore to visit this crazy place every few months, for two weeks at a crack, for the length of five years. I never once promised anything about attending any of _His Royal Jerk-face’s_ parties. After that stunt with the painting, Jareth can go take a long walk off a very short pier! All I’m doing tonight is sleeping, and that’s all there is to it,” she huffed, feeling more than a bit indignant that Hoggle would dream of suggesting she do anything just because the Goblin King expected it; especially after Jareth had her portrayed as nothing but a mindless, awestruck plaything in that mockery of a portrait. 

“Alright…I spose’ that’s fair. Not that he’ll be likely to see it that way, but it is what is, I guess. I’ll be back in a couple of hours just the same…just to check up on ya,” Hoggle replied uneasily.

 _If by ‘check up on me’ you mean try and talk me into going to the Goblin King’s stupid ball for assholes, you can just save your breath!_  
Sarah thought bitterly, but bit the words back, keeping them from leaving her tightly pursed lips.

After all, none of it was Hoggle’s fault. Taking her irritation out on him was just an all-around bad idea. It wouldn’t do any good to get into a spat with one of the very few friends that she actually had within the castle walls. So instead of spitting out a cheeky barb of one sort or another, Sarah simply gave her friend a stiff nod and watched as he turned to go.

“Oh, and if I might suggest…” Hoggle paused and stooped to pick up the discarded Lancelot twin, from where she’d cast it on the floor. “I wouldn’t look at this as somethin’ from _The Rat_. Don’t let him taint a perfectly good memory. Instead, you should look at it as a symbol of yer brother and family; why it’s necessary to get through this whole mess.” 

Sarah, just stared at the proffered bear for a long moment, then ever so hesitantly, took it from the dwarf’s outstretched hand. Well, when he put it like that…

“And if ya want it dark in here, so you can sleep, just command the lights off and on. They’re charmed, just like everything else in this room,” Hoggle remarked over his shoulder, as he headed for the gold archway of the sitting room.

“Okay. Thanks,” Sarah called after him, suddenly feeling rather small and alone; swallowed up by the vast extravagance of her surroundings.

Clutching the Lancelot clone tight to her chest, Sarah made her way to the museum showpiece that was her new bed. On the way there, she noticed several gilded doors to her right and left that she hadn’t yet explored. Despite the instant flare of her curiosity, she ignored them for the time being and continued on to the bed. She was too damn tried to wrap her head around any more grand surprises. She was just too damn tired to deal with **anything** for that matter, including taking care of the gnawing emptiness in her belly. For a fleeting second, Sarah considered making her way to the sitting room and helping herself to a heaping portion of the treats piled high on the coffee table. However, even the simple task of eating seemed impossibly beyond the reach of her current energy level. 

She just needed to sleep the remainder of the day away; recharge and regain control of her rattled senses, then maybe she would feel up to facing _His Royal Doucheness_. By no means was she up for attending some stupid party and as far as she was concerned, Jareth could go screw himself. The absolute nerve; thinking she would just show up to a ball and make nice like he hadn’t just pulled some grade-A bullshit. She couldn’t care less if the party was supposedly for her. She wasn’t going, not for all the tea in China! 

As Sarah pulled back the heavenly soft coverlet of her Marie Antoinette worthy bed, she indulged in the undeniably satisfying thought of Jareth impatiently pacing the floor, while his guests whispered and tittered about him being stood up by his own guest of honor. 

_That would serve him right!_  
Sarah smirked to herself, as she toed-off her sneakers, unbound her hair and removed her coat, draping it haphazardly on the quilted Queen Anne’s bench that sat against the end of the bed.

Sarah fervently hoped the Goblin King would be even a fraction as embarrassed by her willful absence, as she had been when she had gotten a miserable eyeful of that god-awful painting. When Hoggle came back to check on her, Sarah resolved that she would assure him that she was still solid on not attending Jareth’s formally attired attempt to preen like a stuck-up peacock and lord her obviously crappy situation over her.

 _Seriously, screw that._  
Sarah inwardly groused and climbed into bed, tucking her Lancelot replacement beneath her chin and squeezing him tight.

“I think I’ll call you Arthur, as in the king. _Lancelot the Second_ is too much of a mouthful,” She murmured drowsily to her new favorite possession; drawing comfort from the stuffed toy with thoughts of Toby, just as Hoggle had suggested.

As Sarah nestled her head into the heavenly softness of the bed’s cushiony pillow pile, her half-lidded eyes traveled to the room’s arched ceiling, beyond the draped canopy under which she lay. Four utterly massive ornate gold, candelabra style, chandeliers dotted the ceiling; their candles were burning bright without even a drop of wax running down their sides; enchanted, no doubt. The chandeliers in of themselves, were pretty impressive, but fairly insignificant compared to the nothing-short-of-awe-inspiring fresco of a cloud-kissed sky, during the luminescent golden brilliance of a perfect sunrise.

“Wow…” Sarah breathed, then remembered what Hoggle had told her about the lighting and hesitantly added, “Ummm…lights off…please?”

Instantly, the candles nestled inside the gilded notches in the overhead chandeliers, winked out without so much as a wisp of smoke. The room was suddenly shrouded in an inky cover of shadow. The only sources of light came from the soft orange glow of the rhythmically dancing flames, within the fireplace and the faint jewel toned gleam of muted winter sunshine sifting through the stained glass double doors, on the other side of the room. 

With another glance upward, Sarah startled at the sudden and miraculous change to the ceiling. The sunset fresco was gone and in its place was a jaw-dropping portrayal of a glittering night sky, bedecked with thousands of twinkling stars that actually, well…twinkled! Nestled in her cocoon of silken covers, Sarah couldn’t help the soft gasp of wonder that escaped her lips when she spotted a shooting star streaking through her personal night sky. Wow, was magic ever cool! 

Not that it mattered…she was still furious at Jareth. Not even a moving ceiling mural would get her to soften. She was rock-solid in her resolve to ignore the pompous ass until morning…no matter how her heart might give the tiniest flutter of excitement when she realized she could even spot the glittering clusters of the constellations above her.

 _Nice try Goblin King…but you’re still an unbearable asshat…no matter how incredible all this is…I’m still mad at you._  
Sarah thought, her jaw cracking in a lengthy yawn, as she turned on her side and buried her face in Arthur’s comforting plush softness. She was fast asleep within mere seconds.

* * *

When Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, some undetermined amount of time later, she was instantly aware that she wasn’t in the same place she’d fallen asleep. With her heart thundering a panicked staccato in her chest, her eyes darted around her unfamiliar surroundings, with rapidly spiraling unease. She was no longer in her beautiful room with the false, twinkling starry sky overhead. She was now in a small, brightly lit (and sparsely furnished) chamber that had what looked to be a white, filmy curtain in place of a door.

Just beyond the curtain’s gauzy barrier, Sarah could just barely make out the dark outlines of people milling about, to and fro. The upbeat melody of cheerful orchestra music, accented by the low murmur and hums of countless conversations and trilling peels of delighted laughter, wafted to her ears; still somehow audible through the deafening pound of her own pulse.

_What the hell? Where am I?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Credits and Sources:**
> 
> **Weech-** As mentioned in a previous note, her basics are mentioned on page 86 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. The illustration of her in the book is done in all sepia tones, so I took some creative licensing with her coloring. 
> 
> **Stench-** Weech’s sous chef, mentioned on page 90 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. Oh, and yes, his illustration is every bit as disgusting as I’ve described in this chapter.
> 
>  **The Serpent Sword of Elmerillion-** Mentioned on page 12 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. While my version of the tale of Loph and Isk is pretty accurate to what the book mentions, I padded it out a bit, tweaked it a tad and added the mention of Jareth’s grandfather, King Casden (who is a creation of my own imaginings). 
> 
> **The Great Hall of Unconventional and Useless Objects-** Mentioned, very briefly in one sentence, on page 12 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. While the book does say that the Serpent Sword is hung in the Great Hall, between the _“Giant Hairy Pin”_ and the _“Unwarmable Rat-Tickling Device,”_ it says nothing of what the hall looks like, how it came to be and the other objects it houses. All added description of the hall in this fic, was my personal take on it.
> 
> And, just for visual-like stimulation, here are a few pretties I spotted on Pinterest that served as my inspiration for Sarah’s room:
> 
>  [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673962173/)
> 
> [Here](https://www.arthermitage.org/Edward-Petrovich-Hau/Interiors-of-the-Winter-Palace-The-Drawing-Room-in-Rococo-II-Style-with-Cupids.html)
> 
>  [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673968704/)
> 
>  [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673962246/)
> 
>  [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673962253/)
> 
> and
> 
>  [Here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673962195/)
> 
>  (From what I understand, the coloring of the birds in the pic linked above, is photoshopped and that kind of lovebird coloring doesn’t actually exist, although albino lovebirds are a real thing.)


	9. Of Pretend Queens and Oubliettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finds herself right in the middle of the Goblin King's ball, against her expressed wishes. Of course, wills clash and tempers flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bam! Jareth is back, baby!  
> *jazz hands*

* * *

_Everything is mutable and moving. Even a faeire in the worst mood imaginable can shift in a moment._  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire p. 130)_

* * *

Sarah’s reeling mind silently screamed out a panicked cry of alarm, as her gaze desperately bounced all about her new, cramped environment. Everything around her was a stark, blank white; the walls, the standing candelabras in each corner, the marble floor, even the tall standing mirror, which she briefly glanced from the corner of her eye. Where in the world was she? Why wasn’t she in her room? Why did her chest feel constrained? Each ragged inhale and exhale that puffed past her lips, sent her ribcage uncomfortably straining against something that bound her horribly tight. 

When Sarah looked down at herself, she couldn’t help the shrill squeak of shock that tore from her throat. She was no longer in the comfortable jeans and the soft blue sweater she’d climbed into bed wearing; not even close. She wasn’t even in bed for that matter! Instead, Sarah found herself sprawled on what appeared to be an oversized, white quilted, fainting couch. Astonishingly, she was wearing a long gold skirt, made out of a heavy material that glimmered whenever she moved her legs the least little bit. A painfully tight, gold embroidered, corset encased her torso, and the tips of what appeared to be matching embroidered slippers peeked out from beneath the full-length hemline of her skirt. 

_What the fuck? What. The. Fuck???_

Without further thought, Sarah sprang to her feet, thankful that the shoes she wore were blessedly flat, or else she might have faceplanted right on the hard floor. With her head whipping in every direction, Sarah quickly determined that she was alone in the small white room, aside from the numerous silhouettes of milling people just on the other side of the curtain. Again, her darting gaze snagged on the standing white-framed mirror. However, this time she let her eyes linger there; cautiously creeping closer to the stranger standing within its reflective depths. 

The young woman staring back at her, with green, fear-wide eyes, was all but unrecognizable. She looked to be a beautiful, contradictory image of elegant grace and some unnamable, otherworldly wildness. Her long, dark hair was pleated into a series of loose braids and adorned with what looked to be pale peach blossoms, threaded in the glossy, cocoa strands. Around her brow, she wore a matching woven crown (thick with the white blossoms), making her look both regal and free-spirited. The sleek gold skirt clung to the gentle flare of her hips, and the embroidered corset made an absolute spectacle of her trim waist; pushing the swells of her small, pert breasts impossibly high. 

The mirror woman’s eyes were rimmed in a thick charcoal black liner, her eyelids adorned with shimmering gold, her lips painted a blushing rose. Around her neck, she wore a thick embroidered ribbon, made of the same material as her corset; tied tight like a choker. Hanging just above the alabaster swell of her cleavage, a familiar miniature orb necklace winked in the candlelight.

It took Sarah several stunned blinks and numerous passes of her trembling hands, across the sleek fabric of her skirt and corset, to fully comprehend that the wild, elegant woman staring out at her from the mirror’s frame, was, in fact, herself.

“What in the freaking world is going on?!” Sarah hissed at her own reflection.

It made no sense! None of it! What could possibly-

“Jareth!” the snarled name burst from her lips, as everything clicked into place with an almost audible _snap_.

The recollection of Hoggle mentioning the rat-bastard’s ball, back in her room, accompanied by a sleep-hazed snippet of a memory of the dwarf shaking her awake sometime later, came crashing through the expanse of her reeling mind. With a prickle of chilly unease, Sarah recalled drowsily grumbling at Hoggle that Jareth’s ball was _“stupid”_ and that the Goblin King could _“go fuck himself,”_ before falling right back to sleep. 

Apparently, the surreal circumstances in which she now found herself, was Jareth’s idea of a rebuttal. Of course, it was! She had refused to go to his stupid soiree, so he had made sure she would have no choice but to attend; the only exit being the bustling room beyond the curtain, which was undoubtedly right in the thick of the party.

 _Ugh! That dirty sneak!_  
Sarah fumed and momentarily debated stubbornly planting herself on the fainting couch and refusing to budge until the damned ball was completely over.

However, the obvious flaw in her plan was that at some point, Jareth would undoubtedly come looking for her. Being forcibly dragged from her curtained hidey-hole did not sit well with Sarah’s sense of pride. No, if she **had** to do this, it would be on her own terms, dammit! With one last assessment of her person, Sarah noted that her knuckles were completely unbruised; the skin smooth and unmarred. A quick flick of her tongue to the inside of her bottom lip told her that it too had been miraculously healed. 

Well, as far as a gross abuse of magic went, at least Jareth had done a couple of useful things with his blatant flex of power. He was still on her shit-list though. A healed lip and hands did not equal a free pass to fuck with her! He couldn’t just make her do things that she outright refused to do! No siree Bob! That would most definitely **not** be how things were going to play out for the next two weeks.

It was then that the unsettling quandary of whether or not Jareth had undressed her himself, or had used magic to change her clothes, popped up within her already reeling brain; her cheeks instantly burning with red-hot embarrassment at the prospect.

 _For his sake, it had better been done with magic!_  
Sarah thought, as she clenched her teeth tight. 

Yep, she was going to go out there and set his domineering ass straight! Besides, there was also the unresolved matter of the portrait that had Sarah practically chomping at the bit to discuss with him. Like it or not, Jareth’s enjoyment of the party was about to be put on hold, in favor of her giving him a huge piece of her mind.

Steeling her resolve with a shallow breath (damn the stupid, too-tight corset!) Sarah marched over to the curtained exit and pulled the filmy material back with far more force than necessary. As fired-up, as she was, the uncomfortably familiar sight that awaited her on the other side of the curtain was enough to make her pause in open-mouthed confusion. Was she back in that bubble world? Had Jareth somehow trapped her there again? 

It all looked nearly the same. All gleaming white, ornately carved pillars here and there; numerous low hanging, oddly twisting candelabra chandeliers. All the chandeliers were practically coated in dried dribbles of wax, although the candles they housed didn’t look burnt down in the least. Massive amounts of glimmering ribbons and strands of shining beads were hung from the ceiling and various fixtures, just as before. The only difference being that the beads and ribbons were now varying shades of gold, instead of opalescent.

A quick glance to her right had Sarah noting that the fat, fluffy pillows in the pillow pit, were no longer the dusty mauve and soft orange that she recalled them being either. They too were now a bright burnished gold. Seriously, what was with all the gold everywhere? In her room, on her dress, in this very ballroom, Sarah was starting to wonder if the color held some sort of significance.

With her shoulders back and her spine held straight, Sarah made her first tentative steps away from the curtained doorway of the small room, in which she had awoken. All around her people danced, laughed and conversed in loud, jubilant tones. This time though, all the guests were maskless and oddly enough, all dressed in shades of ivory and cream. Sarah, in all her golden finery, stuck out like a shiny sore thumb; a fact that did little to calm her suddenly ratcheting anxiety. That combined with the stir of excitement she seemed to be creating, the further she moved into the crowded ballroom, was nearly enough to send her running back to the tiny curtained room; clutched in the merciless grip of an all-out panic attack. 

_“It’s her!”_

_“Your Majesty.”_

_“My Queen.”_

_“It’s Queen Sarah, the champion of the Labyrinth!”_

Came the excited whispers and murmurs from all around her. People were starting to stop whatever it was they had been previously engaged in, to offer her low bows and sweeping curtsies.

 _No! Stop that! Don’t bow to me! I’m not anyone’s queen! Stop it!_  
Sarah wanted to hiss at them, but instead held her tongue and continued to proceed, as gracefully as possible on trembling legs, through the suddenly parting crowd. 

All this queen nonsense seriously had to stop. Jareth and his damn antics! He probably thought he was so very smart, getting all of his subjects to refer to her as their queen, creating the disheartening illusion that she had lost before she’d barely begun her five years of visiting perdition. That scheming sleaze! Well, it wasn’t going to phase to her, she wouldn’t allow it! With the simmering heat of anger-laced resolve burning hot within her belly, Sarah picked up her previously plodding pace and pushed forward at a brisk rate, which fell just short of a light run. Every guest whom she neared, quickly stepped aside and lowered their heads in respect; the enraging false title of _Queen_ spoken in awe-hushed tones, dripping from their murmuring lips.

Like wildfire, awareness of her presence quickly spread all throughout the room; the orchestra ceased their playing; all previously dancing feet completely stilled. By the time Sarah reached the base of the high marble dais, which sat in the center of the over-crowded room, she found her mouth going desert dry and her palms breaking out in a clammy sweat. Every single set of eyes in the room was set upon her. Oh god, they were all staring! Every single guest in attendance was bent at the knee and bowed at the head. That didn’t stop the goosebump-inducing press of their gazes, as they leered up at her in an almost expectant manner. 

_Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god!_

No! It was another one of the Goblin King’s little power games, Sarah reminded herself. Jareth wanted to rattle her cage. He wanted her to completely lose it, just as she had in the portrait room, but this time in front of an eagerly watching audience. He was dying for her to embarrass herself further! Nope. It wouldn’t happen. She’d let him play her like a cheap fiddle one too many times already. If the rat-bastard wanted to make her into some sort of false monarch, then she’d play the part alright! 

She would beat him at his own game and act every bit the regal queen that the Goblin King seemed to discount her being capable of portraying. Did he forget that acting was completely and totally her element? He wanted a scene? Fine, she’d give him one, just not in the way in which he seemed to expect. With a quick calming breath, Sarah willfully turned her back on her expectant audience and silently summoned the collective essence of every powerful queen that she possibly could think of. No, she was Sarah Williams no longer. She was Cleopatra! She was Catherine the Great! She was Queen Elizabeth the First! She was freaking Nefertiti! 

With her chin tipped imperiously high, Sarah allowed herself a moment to coolly access the gleaming marble dais, which had become her unintentional destination, via the herding of the previously parting crowd. The dais was new; she was fairly certain. She hadn’t noticed anything like it during her previous visit to the ballroom, had she? Was it even the same room at all? Sarah was suddenly uncertain. Instead of the reflective and oddly curved walls she remembered smashing through with a chair, there was only bright white stone. 

However, Sarah didn’t have long to ruminate on any of those obscure facts before her stomach suddenly gave a rather _unqueenly_ lurch of anxiety, when her eyes properly focused upon the haughty figure seated on the dais. Perched in a gleaming throne craved of polished ivory, Jareth looked every bit the regal King; in tight black breeches, gleaming black boots with gold buckles, an inky black poet’s shirt, and a shining gold tailcoat, which looked to be made of the same richly embroidered fabric as her corset.

 _Well aren’t we just the matchy-matchy pair._  
Sarah inwardly snarled with disdain.

Of course, they were the only two not dressed in head-to-toe shades of white. Of course, they stood out like shining gold beacons in a sea of pale lace and linen. Everything the Goblin King did was a goddamn spectacle! Sarah ruefully mused that she should have expected nothing less. Of course, Jareth had purposely orchestrated their first meeting, after she’d seen that cruel joke of a painting, to be a huge public event. Oh, and **, of course,** he would try to further rile her by making sure he wasn’t alone upon his lofty perch, but surrounded by company; **female** company!

 _Of course!_

Gritting her teeth, Sarah made a note of the three women seated on low golden stools to the Goblin King’s left, on the wide platform of the dais. There were four stools in all, but one sat empty; its would-be occupant seated on the floor at Jareth’s feet, her head of fiery red curls resting contentedly upon his knee. The redhead’s hands were lazily trailing up and down Jareth’s well-defined thigh, in a sickening display of public fawning that filled Sarah with the inexplicable, burning urge to slap the handsy woman’s clutching paws away. 

All four of the women were ethereally beautiful; all dressed in gauzy, low-cut gowns of shimmering pearl taffeta. All (but one of them), were staring at Jareth like he was the last double-chocolate cupcake left in the bakery display and they had all just come off an especially grueling diet. Why in the hell did that fill her with a burning impulse to hit something…preferably them?

_No, that’s stupid. Jareth can do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. It’s not like I’m going to stay and become his queen. None of it matters. So what if he has admirers or concubines…or whatever? Who cares? Doesn’t affect me at all._

Sarah silently lectured herself, wishing her dumb, defiant heart would get with the damn program and stop feeling like a two-ton weight had suddenly taken up residence within the confines of her chest.

No, it **didn’t** matter. Sarah reminded herself that she was feeling a tad off, due to all the recent stress and the lingering sleeping pill hangover she’d never gotten the chance to recover from properly. Also, waking up from a desperately needed nap, to find that her express wishes to be left out of the Goblin King’s ridiculous party, had been straight-up violated. Yeah, that didn’t do particularly great things to her headspace. Nope, she didn’t care about Jareth’s little flock of groupies…not one bit…but did that redhead really **have** to keep pawing him like that??? Didn’t she have even a shred of self-respect?

“Well my dear, are you going to join us or not? Or do you find it, so very interesting an activity to stand down there, glowering a hole through my head? One would think a queen would be delighted to meet her new ladies-in-waiting,” Jareth drawled down to her, a particularly smug half-grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Sarah found it a bit unfitting that the Goblin King seemed only to be able to shift into the form of an owl when in that particular moment, he looked every bit the pleased feline who knew he had his little mouse backed into a corner. Too bad for Jareth, she was no little mouse. Steeling her spine, Sarah gathered up her golden skirt in her tightly clenched fists, so that the hemline was out of trampling distance of her slippers. Her heart was practically ramming against the confining restraint of her corset; her throat suddenly feeling far too tight even to swallow.

 _I am Cleopatra…I am Catherine the Great…_

Sarah forced her features into a mask of cool indifference, as she began to ascend the numerous marble steps up to the dais platform. She wordlessly told herself that she was starring in a play as the role of a proud, brave queen; the gawking crowd around her, her enthralled audience.

_I am Queen Elizabeth the First…I am Nefertiti…_

“One would also think that a king wouldn’t be as crude as to allow himself to be publicly fondled by one of those ladies in waiting,” Sarah quipped, mimicking his haughty, imperious tone as she climbed steadily upward. “Well, at least I assume your little toy there is one of my supposed ladies. Although her behavior would make me believe that she’s of the sort of profession where she lies on her back all day, instead of attending to a queen.”

_Yikes Sarah…that was harsh!_

The thigh fondler’s head instantly snapped up at Sarah’s barb. Brown eyes, simmering with indignant anger pinned Sarah’s with a heated glare. Yeah, Sarah supposed she deserved that. She shouldn’t have been so bitchy. For all she knew, Jareth had ordered the woman to get all handsy. Besides, her beef was with the Goblin King, no one else. Again Sarah reminded herself, that if Jareth had admirers, it was none of her business. He didn’t belong to her, and she certainly didn’t belong to him, despite what the giant jerkwad seemed to think. If anything, she should pity any woman who had the Goblin King’s attention. Lord knew it had caused her nothing but misery.

Sarah bit her bottom lip, instantly regretting her careless words. Yeah, she could mimic the haughty ruler thing just fine, but her approach lacked finesse. If she hadn’t been trying so hard not to let Jareth see her “queenly” resolve crack, she would have apologized on the spot. Doing so now though would only demonstrate to Jareth that he’d already succeeded in rattling her right out of the gate, without even really trying. 

_Goddammit!_

She would have to make it a point to seek the redhead out and try and make it right, later when Jareth wasn’t around. Although the killer death glare, the woman was currently zeroing in on her, told Sarah that the action probably wouldn’t be all that welcome. Sarah studied the scowling lady for a second longer. Why did she seem…almost familiar, for some weird reason? 

“And one would also think a queen wouldn’t lower herself to allowing some lowly _boy_ to take unseemly liberties with her in his horrid little human vehicle, as if she were nothing more than a street-side doxy,” Jareth sneered, his words shattering through her thoughts like a brick heaved through a window.

_What???!!!_

The redhead at Jareth’s feet grinned in sadistic delight at the king’s words, her brown eyes twinkling with smug satisfaction. 

_Yeah, maybe I won’t be giving that apology after all._  
Sarah thought bitterly, as she bit back the loud hiss of outrage that threatened to rip from her pursed lips. 

No, she wouldn’t be baited this time. Sarah couldn’t quite keep her hands from balling to angry fists of outrage at her sides. The sleaze had watched her regretful first kiss, like some entitled voyeur! Well…of course he had!

_You only made him promise to stop spying if he was on the losing side of your agreement, dummy. You were so focused on him leaving you alone if you won this disaster of a deal, which you totally forgot about specifying that he can’t spy on you the rest of the time either! Another little detail you allowed to sail right past you! Good job Williams!_

Oh lord…she was starting to realize just how badly she sucked at negotiation. There were epic fails and then there was the deal she had made with the Goblin King, which was shaping up to be somewhat of a colossal joke. Evidentially, careers in both business and law were **so not** in her future. Not that Jareth would have been likely to agree to no spying period, but **still**. If she had the Goblin King’s power to manipulate time, she would go back to a month ago and slap herself silly!

“Might I remind you, _Your Majesty_ , that I am **not** a queen. Also, my personal business is just that, **personal** ,” even as the ground-out words left her lips, Sarah realized that she might as well have directed them at a brick wall, for all the good they’d do her.

“And might I remind **you** , my dear, that I am the king of this realm. If I wish to make you an honorary queen, then it is done. Just like that. Of course, it is currently a title in name only. For you to gain the power that goes with such a position, you’ll have to concede to this mockery of a standoff you have seemed to have deluded yourself into thinking you will win. Besides, all of this will get you used to the inevitable. As far as your personal affairs being your own, you know very well that your days of doing anything secretive abruptly ceased the second our paths crossed. The personal matters of a queen are very much the concern of her king,” Jareth replied airily.

_Ha!_

“What you seemed to have forgotten, Goblin King, is that your winning hinges on you convincing me that I **want** to stay here with you. That was part of the rules that **you** made. You can call me by whatever title you like, but facts are facts. You haven’t won anything yet, and I am so **not** your queen. You even said before, that it won’t be over until I beg you. Well, begging is probably the furthest thing from my mind right now. So it seems like you’re off to a pretty poor start,” Sarah glowered.

Jareth let out a low, rumbling chuckle; as if her assessment of his progress insofar was far more amusing than it was insulting. 

“All things in due course, darling.” 

Arrrg! She wanted to slap that damn arrogant leer right off his stupid, handsome face! The fact that he was so sure of himself just added further fuel to Sarah’s inner raging fire. Oh she’d beg him…over her own dead body!

“Now then, if you’re quite finished with your shoddy attempts at scolding me like an ill-behaved schoolboy, might I introduce you to your ladies-in-waiting?” Jareth practically purred, obviously loving the fact that her sudden and unwilling attendance at his pompous shindig had her at an obvious disadvantage, despite the airs she was trying so very hard to put on convincingly. 

Sarah only glared in response, unsure of what angle the Goblin King was currently playing. She wasn’t a real queen. Why in the hell would she need ladies in waiting?

“May I introduce my cousin, the lady Nata? She’s always been an amusing, high-spirited sort. I trust that you will enjoy her company,” Jareth motioned to the woman seated furthest to his left, the only one of the assembled women who hadn’t been undressing Jareth with her eyes.

“Your Majesty,” lady Nata inclined her swan-like neck towards Sarah in a graceful greeting, dipping her head of perfectly quaffed dark auburn hair, in a bow of respect.

Jareth’s cousin? What? Jareth had a cousin? Sarah found herself blinking in surprise at the lovely auburn-haired woman. Well, as she’d ascertained from her last time in the Underground, the Goblin King had a mother, a father, and a brother. So a cousin really shouldn’t be all that surprising. With that thought, Sarah skimmed a quick, curious glance around her immediate surroundings. 

Nope, she couldn’t spot any of the other members of Jareth’s family that she’d seen in those portraits. Strange. Why weren’t they ever around? Again, Sarah was reminded of Hoggle’s odd response when she’d asked after Jareth’s family that day in the portrait room; how he’d advised her not to question the Goblin King as to their whereabouts. 

_Maybe they all got sick of his bullshit too and moved far, far away, must be nice to have that kind of distance from His Royal Jerkface. In that case, I envy them._

Giving up on the idea of spotting Jareth’s family in the crowd, Sarah returned her attention to lady Nata. Just like the redheaded thigh fondler, something about Jareth’s cousin sparked a sense of familiarity. Yes, the woman’s eyes were the exact shade of blue as Jareth’s left eye; she also had the Goblin King’s same sculpted cheekbones and aristocratic mouth. However, it wasn’t the slight family resemblance that gave Sarah the odd sense of having crossed Nata’s path before. 

A sudden flash of memory assailed Sarah’s senses. That night in the bubble world, amongst the milling crowd of masked ball-goers; a woman in a gold and ivory horned mask, dressed in lavender, holding what looked to be a small, circular mirror up to Jareth’s face. A flame-haired woman in a rust-colored half-mask and an off-the-shoulder leaf green dress, pressed herself against the Goblin King’s opposite side, her head resting lazily upon his shoulder. Oh…that had been them, Sarah was sure of it; the thigh fondler and Jareth’s cousin. They too had been there the night the King of the goblins had mocked her and thrown her fairytale daydreams right in her face; had tried to trap her in a cage built of her own naive fantasies. Much like he was currently trying to do, yet once again.

“My Queen? Is there something the matter?” lady Nata inquired, her melodic voice sounding somewhat concerned, most likely due to Sarah openly gaping at her like a thunderstruck idiot.

“Oh…umm…no. I just realized that we’ve met before. Well, not officially, but we’ve seen one another before, at that _other_ ball,” Sarah admitted, not seeing any particular reason to hide her recent epiphany.

Lady Nata’s lips pulled into a wide grin, “Very astute, My Queen.”

The large, almost feral, grin made the auburn-haired woman resemble her cousin all the more. Unlike Jareth, Sarah found not a trace of condescension or mocking in either lady Nata’s smile or tone. She seemed as if she were genuinely impressed that Sarah had put two and two together, with so little to go on. 

_I’m not your queen and you know it._  
Sarah bit back the words that so badly wanted to fly right off her tongue.

It wasn’t like saying that would do any good though. Jareth had clearly ordered the ridiculous farce of her pretend (or as he’d put it, _“honorary”_ ) title. Besides, a part of Sarah didn’t want to offend the woman, when she seemed such a great deal friendlier than her asshat of a relative. It was rather nice not to be sneered at or looked down on for a change. 

“Thank you,” Sarah replied a bit awkwardly, not quite knowing how to respond.

“I am most delighted to welcome you to our realm and do so hope that we will become fast friends,” lady Nata told her, again with not a trace of mockery or false sincerity.

Sarah instantly found herself wishing that the woman weren’t a relation of _His Royal Pompousness_ so that she might be able to befriend her for real. Sarah couldn’t deny that having another ally within the castle walls would be extremely welcome, but the lady Nata was Jareth’s family, plain and simple. The auburn-haired lady-in-waiting was probably the very last person (aside from the Goblin King himself) that she could trust. 

Sarah knew if anything, she would have to keep an extra cautious eye on Nata, which was too bad really. She seemed genuinely likable, but then again, Sarah reasoned that the lady had probably been **told** to be just that. It wouldn’t at all be beneath the slimly King of the Goblins to make a spy of his own cousin. After all, he stole babies and drugged people with fruit so that a little familial espionage would be nothing to him. Instead of giving lady Nata a direct response about becoming _“fast friends,”_ Sarah simply offered her a tight, noncommittal smile and a slight dip of her head, in acknowledgment of the lady’s seemingly warm greeting.

“And next to lady Nata, is the lady Olinda; the granddaughter of the Duchess of the Autumn Woods,” Jareth informed her in a dull, bored tone; as if the introductions were fast becoming a mind-numbing chore he couldn’t wait to get through.

Sarah hadn’t the slightest clue who the Duchess of the Autumn Woods was, but once again dipped her head in respectful acknowledgment of the pretty blonde woman Jareth had so _enthusiastically_ introduced. 

“Your Majesty,” lady Olinda bowed her head low.

“Then we have lady Iona, the daughter of lord Tammen, a longtime friend of the royal family,” Jareth droned.

“Your Majesty,” The raven-haired woman demurred, with a graceful bow of her head.

“And this enchanting creature, would be lady Delicia,” the goblin King motioned to the redhead at his feet. 

Despite Jareth’s favoring words and the way he allowed lady Delicia to touch and openly fawn over him, his tone was flat, and he seemed no more interested in her that he had the others.

Sarah wasn’t sure why that should give her an odd sense of satisfaction, but it did none the less.

“Delighted,” the redheaded thigh groper sneered up at Sarah, in a tone that clearly stated that she was anything but.

“Now, now, my dear. You forget your manners,” Jareth admonished lady Delicia; his voice positively glacial and his dual colored eyes taking on a flinty sheen.

Sarah did her best not to let the smug grin she was suddenly struggling to hold back, stretch tellingly across her lips. It appeared that the Goblin King’s little pet had overstepped her bounds. 

_Aww…too bad, so sad…_

However, Sarah’s enjoyment of Delicia’s scolding was somewhat soured by the disturbing realization that her heart was presently doing an elated samba against her ribcage…just because a certain tight pants wearing king had come to her defense. Why should it matter to her one way or the other if he stuck up for her? She was in the mess she was in all because of him!

“Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. I am pleased to welcome you to the Underground,” lady Delicia simpered in a false show of contrition.

_Pffft! Like hell you are!_

“Thank you,” was all Sarah could manage through her tightly pursed lips. 

The thigh groping bitch wasn’t getting a queenly head bob! Those, Sarah decided, were reserved for people who **didn’t** royally piss her off. Although, why a few catty words would anger her to the point of gleefully imagining herself slapping that super fake apologetic pout right of Delicia’s snide little face, was a bit beyond her.

“So now that the tedium of introductions are out of the way, I would ask My Queen to join me in a dance,” Jareth drawled, rising to his feet and signaling the orchestra to resume playing once more.

As the lilting melody of some unknown waltz swelled within the ballroom, Jareth held out an expectant arm. Sarah’s initial impulse was to tell him to screw himself; that she hadn’t even wanted to come to the stupid ball in the first place; that she was beyond ticked that he had somehow magicked her there against her will; that she wasn’t currently and never would be, his queen. However, the way Delicia was haughtily grinning up at her as if she was totally expecting Sarah to refuse the king and make a spectacle of herself (and was practically salivating at the prospect), spurred Sarah into grudgingly taking Jareth’s proffered arm, just to spite the snide little bitch.

Luckily Sarah was at least disciplined enough to resist the petty urge to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at Delicia, as she and Jareth turned and made their way down the dais steps, to the waiting dancefloor. After all, Sarah was supposed to be acting the part of a queen, and such things were totally unqueenly…no matter how satisfying they might be.

“I don’t believe I’ve yet mentioned that you look utterly ravishing tonight, precious,” Jareth murmured low in her ear, as they approached the center of the dancefloor, surrounded by a swaying sea of ivory-clad revelers. 

The sinful purr of the Goblin King’s voice caused an involuntary flurry of white-hot shivers to traverse along Sarah’s spine. Dammit, why did his voice always have that effect on her? Ugh, she was such a sap! She was supposed to be the champion of the Labyrinth, the defeater of the mighty Goblin King, but there she was getting all breathless and sweaty-palmed over her enemy’s sexy accent. Pathetic! 

Gritting her teeth in determination, Sarah willed away the unnerving curl of heat that had suddenly settled low in her belly. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by Jareth…no matter how good he smelled or how handsome he looked in his tightly fitted jacket or how warm and steady his arm felt wrapped around her own.

“About how I look tonight, exactly how did that happen?” Sarah asked with narrowed eyes, as Jareth halted their forward motion then turned to face her; draping his right arm snugly about her waist and holding up his left hand in silent invitation.

The Goblin King wordlessly regarded her with a crooked grin, within the long pause that ensued when Sarah only stared at his outstretched hand; as if he were holding yet another snake he thought would be so very amusing to toss at her. She debated to herself whether it would be worth all the trouble it would undoubtedly cause, to just turn and run. She then felt the awkward heat of a blush spread tellingly across her face. No, running was probably a bad idea. It took just about every shred of willpower Sarah had to shakily place her left hand within Jareth's, her right coming to rest upon his shoulder gingerly. 

Oh lord, Sarah felt those same damn little flutters beating spastically within her belly, like a net brimming with freshly captured butterflies. They were the same annoying flutters that she’d felt the last time she’d let Jareth put his arms around her like that. She didn’t like it, not one bit, then again, maybe she did...and that therein lay the problem. It rankled Sarah to no end that something as simple as having Jareth’s arm around her did crazy things to both her mind and body. Oh boy, she desperately needed a minute to herself, a minute to clear her head and breathe, free of the Goblin King and his damned jelly-knee-inducing, soul-searing, stares. Yet she knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. 

With a quick calming breath of resolve, Sarah willed herself not to do something impulsive and stupid, such as surrendering to the burning urge to run the heck away from the smug bastard; who could just about wholly undo her with a single glance. Apparently, when she had told the Goblin King that he had no power over, her all those months ago, she hadn’t been entirely truthful.

_Fuck…_

“If you are inquiring if I undressed you and took a peek at your lovely figure,” Jareth grinned wolfishly, as he began to coax her into the fluid steps of the waltz, “then I’m very sorry to disappoint, but I did no such thing. Your attire is merely the product of my magic. No actual disrobing was required… _however,_ if you were to ask nicely…”

With that, Sarah _accidently_ misstepped and brought her foot down, **hard** on the bridge of the Goblin King’s booted foot. She grinned with malice-tinged glee at finally one-upping him (even if only briefly), when she heard Jareth’s breath hitch in a sharp intake of pain. How dare the conceited jerk act as if she was dying for him to strip her and do…naked-type touching stuff! Even if a secret part of her kind of was…he certainly didn’t need to know that!

_In your dreams, asshole!_

“Oops! Clumsy me,” Sarah batted her lashes up at the scowling Goblin King, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

Considering Jareth’s love of snooping, Sarah reasoned that he most likely knew all about the years of cotillion classes that she’d suffered through when she was younger; on her mother’s relentless instance. As she had previously demonstrated to Jareth the last time they’d danced together, she could effortlessly match him step for step. So the likelihood that he bought the graceless smashing of his foot as an actual accident was slim to none, and somehow that made Sarah grin all the wider. 

“Ah and there’s that bloody defiance flaring up again. Why am I not at all surprised that after only a few moments of being in your ever so _charming_ company, you have already made it your top priority to drive me absolutely raving mad?” Jareth gritted out from in-between his clenched teeth and pulled her suddenly (and just a tad violently), flush against him.

Sarah let out a startled gasp at the jarring sensation of her breasts smashed against the solid muscle of Jareth’s chest; his arm banding all too tightly around her waist and his fingers lightly digging into to the curve of her hip. Her breath stilled within her throat, her heart instantly revving up to an alarming speed. 

“What the hell!?” Sarah spluttered with bristling indignation and immediately tried to pull from the Goblin King’s iron grip, but his arms were utterly unyielding in their possessive hold.

Jareth ceased the steps of their dance to glower down at her with a clear warning flashing within his eyes; the intensity simmering in their depths made Sarah’s entire body ignite with the desperate and inexplicable urge to press herself impossibly closer. Why in the world she would want to do that, she had no earthly clue. He was a bully! He was a possessive prick who was manhandling her as if he had and a right to…and goddammit, did he smell fucking **good**! She felt dizzy as his wild, woodsy scent engulfed her; the heat of his body practically branding her through the layers of their clothing; his lean, corded muscle molding to her every curve.

 _Jesus Christ…_

All Sarah could do was stare up at him, her throat tightening in a disconcerting mix of fear and a jarring sort of weird excitement when Jareth’s full lips pulled back in a broad, feral grin. His slightly pointed teeth glinted in the low candlelight of the overhead chandeliers, and Sarah found herself suddenly reminded of the story of Little Red Riding Hood.

_My, what sharp teeth you have…_

“You see, my dear, what I can’t quite understand is why you are so very adamant in pretending as if you aren’t already mine when we both know the truth of it. Why do you insist upon putting up such a bloody fuss when we both know how this will end?” Jareth murmured darkly, his face moving closer to her own, his warm breath fanning her lips; making her toes involuntarily curl within the confines of her embroidered slippers.

Sarah wanted to both bolt right out of Jareth’s arms and to pull him by his ever-tousled hair, so his mouth would cover her own; the conflicting urges battling fiercely within in her, rendering her inconveniently frozen with galling nerve-riddled indecision. Instead of doing either of those things, Sarah forced herself to push back the dizzying fog that had suddenly filled her skull.

_Think, Williams! Think!_

“Oh, I’m yours am I? Is that what you think gives you the right to treat me like this? To manipulate me? To try to humiliate me every chance you get? To put up that god-awful painting?! If that is what it means to be yours, then I’d rather eat a bowl full of nails!” Sarah hissed.

Something cold and unyielding glinted within the Goblin King’s gaze, and Sarah found herself nervously swallowing past the newly formed lump in her throat.

“Ah, and there you go yet again. Pointing the blame at me, when it was your very own actions that brought about the result of which you found so very unpleasant. If you hadn’t allowed that pathetic boy to put his filthy, vermin hands all over you, I wouldn’t have had to remind you of to whom you truly belong! The insufferable little worm was planning on getting a whole lot more than just a few pathetic, slobbering kisses from you, Sarah mine. I watched him. After you got out of his horrid little car, he drove straight to a corner shop and purchased a packet of prophylactics. So once again, I had to rescue you from the mess you’d made,” Jareth seethed, his prodding fingers, which were already biting into her waist, increased their pressure just a tiny bit more.

Sarah’s eyes widened, a gasp of mingled shock and sudden understanding cutting past her lips. The image of Alex looking at her as if she were a puss oozing leper, when he’d spotted her in the hall the day after their kiss in the car…the way he’d practically sprinted away.

_Of course Jareth had something to do with it!_

Sarah felt like a complete idiot for taking so long to piece it together, her cheeks instantly flushing brightly anew with bitter shame.

“What did you do to him, Goblin King?” 

“ **I** did nothing whatsoever,” Jareth drawled airily, yet his gaze remained hard and accusatory, as he continued to unwaveringly stare her down, “Do you think I could so easily forget the rules of our bargain? I would never dream of forfeiting for something so petty. So **I** did nothing. The three trolls who owed me a debt, however, might have had a word with the boy. I might have loaned them a bit of glamour to make them appear as a group of particularly threatening, human street thugs. There was no need to boggle this Alex’s feeble mind with the existence of beings he only thought to live within the unsubstantial realm of myth. So he was graciously provided with threats he would readily accept.”

“One of these threats _might_ have insinuated that you belonged to him. Said threat might have also insinuated that if the boy continued to touch things that weren’t his, he’d find himself woefully without a pulse, on an icy slab, in the local morgue. I’m not entirely certain you see because I wasn’t present when this little tête-à-tête occurred. So clearly, I’m not to blame for any unpleasantness the idiot human encountered,” Jareth smirked triumphantly.

Goddammit! It was exactly what Hoggle had warned her about, Jareth employing others to do his dirty work for him. Sarah wanted to straight up kick herself for not having the foresight to specifically state that the Goblin King couldn’t use his cronies to maneuver around her _‘no threatening’_ rule. Now it was too late, and as long as Jareth wasn’t directly messing with her life, he could easily use any willing being at his disposal to do so and not be in violation of their oath. Not that Sarah was all that sad that Alex had been scared off. There had been zero chemistry there, and if Jareth was telling the truth about Alex’s little errand after he’d dropped her off, then the guy was nothing but a smarmy sleaze; thinking she’d put out on the first date.

However, the disturbing fact that the Goblin King could stick his nose in her private life whenever he felt like it, that he thought he freaking owned her, made Sarah’s blood roil. He couldn’t just keep scaring away every guy to come into her life! Yeah, Alex wasn’t any real loss, but there would be others boys, and none of them would ever stick around, thanks to Jareth and his lowlife henchmen. 

Until she was free of the Goblin King and the stupid bargain she’d let him rope her into, her life would be completely void of any romantic aspect. The weight of it hit her full-on, crushing the breath right from her lungs with belated realization. There would be no dates at the local diner; no late-night car rides to makeout point; no dates to school dances…not even to the prom! Every other girl her age would get to have the typical high school experience, and she would be stuck waiting on the damned sidelines until she was freaking twenty one! 

Yeah, it was true that Sarah hadn’t had much interest in dating before, but suddenly realizing that the choice in the matter had been ruthlessly ripped right out of her hands, while Jareth was free to let redheaded hussies rub all over him, right in front of her, was enough to make her tremble with rage-laced indignation. 

“It’s not fair!” the words burst violently from Sarah’s lips and the second they’d hit the tension-charged air, she instantly wished she had just swallowed them down instead.

Jareth threw his head back and laughed; loud, throaty and far too amused for Sarah’s liking.

“I was wondering when that ever so droll phrase would next leave your pretty little mouth,” The Goblin King chortled down at her at her, but just as quickly as his mirth had bloomed, it abruptly dried up; the smirk withering upon his lips, his gaze icing over once more.

“And again, I will ask you what your basis for comparison is, precious,” Jareth hissed lowly, bringing his full lips just a mere hair’s breadth from her own.

He was so close that Sarah nervously mused to herself that if she were to lift her heels just the tiniest bit, she’d find her mouth pressed right to the Goblin King’s; a prospect that both equally repulsed and gallingly thrilled her.

“You presume that things are so very unfair for **you** , Sarah mine. As usual, you are so completely caught up in your own petty woes that you’re utterly blind to the plight of anyone other than yourself. How very like you. Do you think I find this situation at all ideal? Again I find myself chasing after you, willing to lay the entirety of my kingdom at your ungrateful little feet, offering you bloody well everything, whilst you practically spit in my face,” Jareth growled, his lower lip brushing feather light against hers, at the force of his words.

Heat sparked all throughout Sarah’s body, like rouge bursts of wildfire, at the ghost-like brush of Jareth’s mouth. Oh god, she couldn’t think! With a shuddering breath, Sarah willed herself to pull her face further back from his; desperately willing her anger to form a protective shield about her reeling senses.

“Oh and here you go with your _‘I’m so generous’_ bit again! Ha! Forcing something **you** want on someone else is neither selfless nor generous. So cry me a freaking river pal! I don’t want any part of you or your kingdom, I never have,” Sarah snarled, the blatant lie tasting like bitter ash on her tongue.

She wished in vain that her damn pulse would stop raging like a tempest in her ears, due to both her own anger and Jareth’s all too close proximity. Maybe then she could think clearly.

“You see, precious, that right there is where you are outright lying. One doesn’t just hand their supposed enemy an advantage. Just like you did only a month ago, darling girl. You stood in my throne room and faced the prospect of your life becoming forever changed and ever so conveniently forgot how to count properly,” Jareth sneered, his eyes flashing with undisguised triumph.

_Oh you bastard! You just had to go there, didn’t you?_

“You jumped straight from your offer of two years, to five. Now, what about that truly says that you don’t want me or what I offer? What rankles you the most, Sarah mine? My persistence or the fact that deep down, you shamelessly revel in it?” Jareth taunted, flashing her a sharp-toothed smirk, utterly dripping in self-satisfaction.

He thought he won! The arrogant asshole totally believed that he’d conquered her and was all but laughing in her face over his imagined victory! He was rubbing her humiliating mistake squarely in her face and sniggering down his damn nose at her while he did it! That haughty fucker! He thought he knew her so well, did he? He thought he had it all figured out. He thought he had all the control!

_Control this, asshat!_

Before Sarah could even properly process her actions, she tore her right hand from its perch on the Goblin King’s shoulder and smacked it (open-palmed, but full force), **hard** against the side of his cheek. The resounding _smack_ echoed like a thunderclap, all throughout the instantly silenced ballroom, the orchestra stopping mid-note, the surrounding guests frozen in open-mouthed shock. 

The most unsettling of all reactions, however, was Jareth’s; standing stalk-still, uttering not a single syllable of pain or protest. He said not a word, but the inferno of quiet rage blazing from his eyes and down into hers said it all. She had just gotten herself into a whole giant heap of trouble!

_Shit! So much for not letting him get to you and causing a scene!_

Again, Sarah let rash impulse push her brain from the driver’s seat of her body, shoved herself from Jareth’s firm grasp, and ran. It was hauntingly surreal, running from the Goblin King in the same ballroom yet once again. Yet this time, as Sarah shoved her way past multiple gawking bystanders, she spied large, pearl white double doors, instead of nothing but smooth, rounded glass. 

That stood to reason that she wasn’t in a weird bubble world this time, but most likely still in the Goblin Castle itself. That at least was something. Sarah wasn’t quite sure where exactly she was going to run to, but every fiber of her being screeched at her to get herself through those doors…and she very nearly did too. However, as soon as she was within grabbing distance of the gleaming gold door handles, her grasping fingers outstretched, the world suddenly began to tilt and shift all around her weirdly. 

_Fuck! What’s happening?!_

A smothering sense of vertigo crashed mercilessly down on Sarah, like a wave brutally battering the shore, her eyes instinctively closing at the horrifying sense of her surroundings unraveling around her…and then, almost as quickly as the barrage of troubling sensations had consumed her, it all dropped away. Everything was suddenly blessedly still and eerily quiet. 

Reluctantly, Sarah cracked open her eyes, only to be met with a sight that was as sobering as a bucket of ice water to the face. She was no longer standing in a gilded ballroom, surrounded by shocked guests, with a quietly rageful Goblin King at her back. Nope. Instead, she was in a dark, chilly and windowless room, the walls nothing but rough, solid rock. The disturbingly familiar mélange of loamy earth, sulfurous stink, and sour mildew, bombarded her nostrils. The _drip_ , _drip_ , _drip_ of an unseen water source echoed eerily around her. 

The only source of light to be found in Sarah's new surroundings, came from a few guttering lanterns, hanging low on the stone walls. There wasn’t a door, or any other form of exit, to be seen anywhere. However, when she looked up and squinted her eyes just so, she could just barely make out the glinting metal of a circular grate on the stone ceiling; scarcely visible in the dim lantern light. It was then that the cruel realization of her situation fully hit its mark.

“That rat-bastard put me in an oubliette!” Sarah’s disbelieving shriek pierced the dead silence of her cramped, shadowy confines; bouncing impotently off the cold stone walls, “A goddamn oubliette!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know that so far Jareth has been nothing but a huge douche-canoe. I promise that the first stirrings of change are on the horizon though. Next chapter you'll begin to see the start of said changes and there just might be a bit of fluff as well ;) 
> 
> **Credits and Sources:**
> 
> The characters of lady Nata and lady Delicia are my take on the masked female dancers, seen briefly with Jareth, in the ballroom scene in the film. If you need a memory refresher as to what they looked like, here's a couple of screenshots.
> 
> [Delicia](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673900702/)
> 
> [Nata](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284673952492/)  
> (The woman dancing with the fish-masked man, looking at Jareth.)
> 
> Sarah's ball outfit in this chapter, was inspired by a piece of gorgeous fan-art by Asialiv on DeviantART, which I came across on Pinterest a while ago. Check it out...  
> [Here.](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284668708909/)


	10. Of Feathered Nuisances and Insufferable Door Knockers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jareth watches Sarah stew in her Oubliette prison, but as always, it seems that he has grossly underestimated the girl.

* * *

_In the mirror world that is Faerie, girls have heroic roles to play. They are actually the main characters in their own hero's journey, never needing to wait around to be rescued. There are dragons for them to slay; ogres to vanquish; handsome, seductive faerie boys to be dealt with. Kiss and run...or just run?_  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire p. 56)_

* * *

Jareth stood rigidly amongst his shocked guests, all of them gaping at him like stupid, open-mouthed fools. Their eyes all cast out a million unspoken judgments upon him, like stones hurled at the condemned. Jareth’s gloved hands flexed and unflexed restlessly at his sides; itching for an outlet in which to spew his seething anger upon. Just let them say something! They would sorely regret it if they did! 

Jareth’s body fairly crackled and hummed with a potent mix of barely controlled rage and the heady rush of power that he always experienced whenever Sarah touched his bare skin. Although, this time it had been no tender caress or the gentle clasping of hands. The little heathen had slapped him! Right in the middle of a ballroom filled with his subjects and peers! 

Again the girl had humiliated him; had made him look the simple fool in front of his entire court, and now his subjects and comrades were all gawking at him, as if **he** had done something wrong by meriting out the very punishment the defiant chit justly deserved! He would let the little viper cool her heels in that bloody oubliette until she could pay him proper respect and he didn’t have to listen to a single sodding soul saying otherwise! 

He had warned Sarah not to show him any disrespect many a time before. It was her own damned fault for not listening. Once again, his generosity was all but bloody well shat on, while **he** was made to look the blackguard for dealing with his ungrateful queen the way any self-respecting king should. Perhaps if his father had grown a damned spine and similarly dealt with his own queen, he wouldn’t currently be nothing but a musty pile of old bones, wasting away to dust in the royal mausoleum. 

**“The ball is over! You are all hereby dismissed! Go!”** the Goblin King boomed, infusing his voice with threads of his magic; making the entirety of the ballroom shake with its deafening force.

that was all the coaxing the judgmental dullards needed (Jareth noted with a hint of petty satisfaction), as white-clad guests began to pour out of the room in droves. Turning his head stiffly to the dais, he spotted Sarah’s newly appointed ladies-in-waiting, scurrying down its marble steps, as if their pretty dancing slippers had suddenly caught aflame. All of them, save his blasted stubborn cousin, who merely stood atop the platform, looking down at him with what could only be described as _that look._  
Jareth let out a long, belabored sigh. His father had given him that very same look many a time. It was the look that silently decreed him a buggering lackwit. Apparently, Nata had decided that with her beloved uncle long unable to fulfill the task of silently disapproving practically all of his son’s life choices and actions, the job had fallen to her via default.

“I do **not** have to justify myself to you, cousin,” Jareth scowled up at her and when her condemning glower held fast (her arms folding crisply in front of her chest for emphasis), he added the threat of, “I swear to the Gods Nata, if you continue to look at me in such a disrespectful manner, I shall send you to bathe in the Bog within a blink!” 

She said nothing, only arched her brow in a manner that silently challenged, _“Go right ahead. I dare you!”_

By the Great Horned God, he was sorely tempted to meet her unspoken challenge! But Nata was his only remaining family; he couldn’t bloody well bog his family. Well, only remaining family if one didn’t count the monster, long caged…

With a shake of his head, the Goblin King banished his thoughts from straying to that particular subject. He had enough misery to currently contend with, without summoning up ghosts of the past. 

“Gods, woman! Why must you vex me so?! As if I don’t have an all too troublesome female to contend with already!” Jareth snarled up at his impudent cousin.

What right had she to judge him?! Her marriage was a laughable farce; wedded to a man who much preferred to bed his fellow lords and never warmed his own wife’s sheets. There was also the fact that everyone who even remotely paid attention to the castle goings-on, knew that Nata herself was desperately in love with a lowly servant girl, with who she could never share more than a series of clandestine trysts. So why his self-righteous cousin thought herself so superior, Jareth hadn’t a clue. 

Their entire family line had been plagued with romantic disaster after romantic disaster. Some called them cursed, and Jareth couldn’t rightly contest that claim. His own bloody parents had been the very pentacle of dysfunction! Their tale was legendary…in the cautionary sort way. So it wasn’t as if sending one’s queen to an oubliette, to merely cool her heels for a moment, was so terribly scandalous, at least not in comparison. Rather than linger and listen to Nata’s undoubtedly snide reply, Jareth shot her one last withering look and abruptly transported himself to the blessed solitude of his chambers.

* * *

It had only been mere moments, ten minutes and seven seconds, to be perfectly precise. Already Jareth was going utterly out of his mind. He was second-guessing himself, something he utterly loathed. A king should never doubt his actions…yet he was. He well and truly was. Just like a young princeling, who was still wet behind the ears, he was questioning his own capabilities yet again. 

Sarah bloody Williams, she did that to him quite a lot; made him falter in his resolve; made him misstep and rethink his course of action, when he’d done it so seldom before she’d come barreling into his life. Jareth paced the length of his bedchamber for what seemed like the billionth time in only a moment’s passing. He’d put his queen in an oubliette! In a sodding **oubliette**! 

_Gods, what have I done?_

Well, he’d only done it to get Sarah to calm her hysterics and pay him a bit of overdue respect. Really, she shouldn’t have forced his hand and riled him so. She’d brought it on herself. He wasn’t to blame. She’d acted uncouthly and completely out of control…and…he’d put her in a Gods forsaken oubliette! 

It wasn’t like it was the first time, but that other time he truly hadn’t been directly responsible. So yes, perhaps he had opened up that trap door from beneath Sarah’s feet when she’d cheekily declared she had it all figured out and proclaimed the whole thing a _piece of cake._ Gods, he loathed that insipid phrase! 

However, the Helping Hands had asked Sarah which way she’d wanted to go and she had **chosen** down. He’d also sent the dwarf to fetch her, nearly the second her feet had touched the dirty limestone floor. This time though…this time, he was letting her sit there for no matter of actual consequence, other than spite and his own wounded pride.

_I’ve bollixed it up!_

No, no, no! He’d done right. The girl was too wild for her own good; too strong-willed and defiant. He had to teach her somehow. His father had been an utter fool when it had come to his mother. For a king whose moniker had been _‘The Wise’_ he’d truly been a bit of a pillock. Not in regards to most things mind you, but when it came to the traitorous backbiting committed by his very own wife, his father had been nothing short of blind. 

King Adeen’s love for his queen had been all consuming. He had stupidly let her steer him down the jagged path of disaster while whispering sweet, honeyed words of false promise in his ear, and by the time he’d finally realized that power was indeed the only love of Queen Celinette’s life, it had been too late. Jareth refused to share his father’s fate. He refused to allow a female to own him completely. Sarah made him feel things the likes of which he’d never dreamed himself capable, which was both invigorating and a burning credence of caution.

He had to have the girl. He wouldn’t stop until she was his in every way; there was no other outcome Jareth would ever accept as his future. However, he recognized it as nothing short of dire necessity, to keep his head about him in the matter. Of course, that meant establishing a firm and unyielding control over the situation, of which he currently found his hold tenuous at best. Blast it! She **had** to respect him…and yes, of course, fear him…otherwise he’d utterly lose himself; he’d drown in her, in the wild madness that was Sarah Williams and he’d more than likely enjoy every single second of it…before catastrophe inevitably overtook them both. 

His father had been blissfully ignorant to the knife poised at his back, the entirety of his tumultuous marriage to Jareth’s mother. The former Goblin King had been so helplessly lost to his wife’s guile that he hadn’t been able to remove the blinders from his eyes long enough to recognize that his beloved queen cared nothing for him. 

His father had been incapable of realizing the rather apparent tells; that his wife had rained down the festering personal disdain, she had for him, on their younger son. All the while, the elder of their offspring had been honed as a weapon, a weapon the poor sod hadn’t taken seriously until he’d taken in his last breath. Now both King Adeen and his power-mad queen were lost to the realm of the living, and all that remained was Jareth…and the monster his mother had created.

He would be damned if that particularly nasty piece of history repeated itself! He would never allow Sarah’s inner fire to consume him. He would never lose sight of what was necessary…no matter how he longed to completely surrender himself to the compelling mix of emotions the girl stirred within him, but he wouldn’t; he **couldn’t**. Not just for his sake, but for Sarah’s too…and for the children they would one day create.

It was all too necessary, to teach Sarah that her actions had consequences; that **he** was in control and not to be trifled with. Not that Jareth thought her at all capable of the cruelty in which his mother had revealed. However, left unchecked, wild, unruly beings (such as his _firefly_ ), tended to inflict damage on themselves and those who loved them. From what he had observed, Sarah’s mother was a prime example. 

He wouldn’t allow that to happen to his queen. He would keep her grounded. He would take care of her. He would remind her of her place when she needed reminding. Someday, she would come to see the rightness of it all…someday. Ceasing his pacing, Jareth was again gripped with the gut-clawing urge to check on his future bride. Despite the petulant way she had lashed out at him, he still wanted to make certain that she was alright and not overly frightened.

_Pah! Overly frightened?! She’s more than likely combing her surroundings for a makeshift weapon in which to castrate me with!_

His Sarah was no simpering coquette; a fact that both infuriatingly frustrated Jareth and somehow thrilled him all the same. She challenged him, kept him on his toes; reminded him what it was like to feel exhilarated. That very exhilaration was the reason he had to remain firm…to keep her in her place. Excitement such as the sort his _firefly_ provided was madness that seeped into the brain and clouded the vision.

_I will not become my father…_

Gods…Sarah was going to be all sorts of trouble, but oh was she worth it. After all, he’d known that clipping his little bird’s wings wouldn’t be an easy task. No part of her Labyrinth run, or their standoff in the Escher room, had ever really made Jareth think otherwise. 

The bargain he’d coerced her into was part of the process of taming her, of getting her to recognize that she both needed and wanted him, and so far…well…she’d been right, he supposed. He was doing a bit of a piss-poor job. He’d put her in an oubliette! He’d buggered it all up, hadn’t he? Why had he let her rile him so? Why had he been such a prat?

There he was, second-guessing himself again! No, it was all part of it. This temporary confinement, among other things, was part of wearing down her jagged edges, he reminded himself. He’d get Sarah to recognize her boundaries; to learn what was and wasn’t acceptable, then he’d show her how phenomenal they would be together. He’d show her everything...

Gritting his teeth, Jareth issued a murmured curse and surrendered to the impulse to check on his unwilling queen. Yes, he’d promised himself that he’d let her stew for a while, but he **needed** to see her; to make certain she was unharmed. Flicking his wrist to summon a crystal, he spread his glove-incased fingers wide, so the orb would levitate before him and enlarge.

Jareth thought his _firefly’s_ name and her image instantly bloomed upon the crystal’s shinning surface. There she stood in the oubliette’s murky depths; simmering in all her glorious fury. A blistering streak of curses tumbled from her pretty lips, the likes of which might make even a Tallow Goblin blush. 

“Stupid Goblin King! You better let me out right **now!** I swear to God Jareth! Let me out, or I’ll…rip off your penis and shove it right down your throat! Arrrrrg! Let me out, goddammit!” Sarah screeched, her arms flailing about in a manner that was rather comical.

Jareth’s lips twitched with a faint stirring of amusement. Even angered to the point of becoming murderous, or committing a heinous assault on his manhood, his Sarah was an adorably fiery creature. Gods, how his breath had choked from his lungs at the sight of her ascending the dais in the ballroom. His blood had instantly heated to a feverish burning, as she’d stood before him all haughty and imperious. She’d looked like nothing short of a golden goddess in her shimmering skirts and tightly molded corset; her glow radiating from her skin like a calling beacon.

Oh and how he’d wanted to answer that call, to jump from his throne and band his arms around her. He’d yearned to transport her to a private, shadowed corner of the castle, away from prying eyes; where they could block out the rest of the blasted world…

Unfortunately it wasn’t as simple as all of that. Sarah still tried to deny what was so obviously between them; tried to fight him at every turn. The girl had to be taught a lesson. She’d given to the lowly, undeserving cur of a boy, a first experience that should have been given to **him**. 

All of her firsts, in the matters of intimacy, were to be **his**. She’d let the unworthy mortal salivate all over her face and paw at her skin, as if he, her king and future husband, were of no real consequence at all. Just thinking of it made Jareth’s stomach churn with bitter, rage-coated resentment. It was that vile reminder, of Sarah in the arms of the lowly human commoner, which spared him from feeling overly remorseful for the little show he had allowed Delicia to put on, back in the ballroom. 

Yes, perhaps it had been a bit crude, as well as undeniably petty, but damn her eyes, Sarah had more than deserved at least a small taste of what he’d endured. Yes, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea, to give his queen the impression that there was any romantic attachment between himself and the brazen lady-in-waiting. 

Well, there had been, once, but the door had been firmly shut on that a very long time ago. Truth be told, Jareth hadn’t felt anything other than quiet contempt for Delicia, since her dalliance with his brother. Anyone who would welcome that monster into her bed was of no interest to him. However, to be completely fair to Delicia, that had been **before** things had played out the horrifying way they had, before Rannon’s betrayal. 

Yet still, the fact that she had once pledged unwavering devotion to him, had promised him her eternal love, then bedded his brother before said promises had even cooled upon her lips. Jareth had never been able to look upon his former paramour quite the same again. It was precisely Delicia’s duplicity that had catalyzed his disinterest in taking the same woman to his bed for more than a few consecutive nights, in nearly a century.

Delicia had been the closest Jareth had ever come to becoming solely devoted to another being (before his _firefly_ ). Reflecting on that time, he could honestly say there had never been a single, solitary speck of real love between them. Delicia had only ever been in love with the idea of a crown resting upon her brow; had been consumed and seduced by the prospect of power; far too like his mother. Delicia hadn’t cared a single wit which of the two princes would be the one to put her on the throne, just as long as they put her there.

For his part, Jareth had merely been infatuated, nay obsessed, with the feeling of another being so utterly devoted to him…even if the prospect of becoming queen fueled the source of said devotion. It had felt unexpectedly marvelous, to be the center of another’s universe, even if he didn’t truly love Delicia and had no intention of giving her the crown she had so desperately craved. Little had he known, his lover had been hedging her bets. 

At the time, it had been anyone’s guess whom would be named king, when Adeen chose to step down from his throne. So Delicia, ever the eager little opportunist, had made doubly sure to get herself within the good graces of both the potential monarchs. 

Even now, when it was entirely clear that the crown had long since slipped from between her grasping little fingers and that he had his sights firmly set on another, Delicia was still circling like a vulture around a heap of carrion. Even, she threw herself at him at any given opportunity. Again she tried to resume her long-abandoned place within his bed, despite his constant refusal of her advances and his declaration that he would soon take Sarah as his bride. The woman was nothing short of completely and utterly shameless.

Yes…so perhaps his former paramour’s lack of shame might have played a hand in selecting her to be among Sarah’s ladies. Perhaps a not so small part of him reveled in that fact that Sarah would, in turn, have to know how it felt to watch the object of her desire be touched and fawned upon by another. Alright, so it **had** been blatantly and unapologetically petty! Jareth told himself that he didn’t care; let the girl in turn experience the galling, needling hurt that she’d so carelessly inflicted upon him! Perhaps it would aid in teaching her a sorely deserved lesson.

He knew good and well that Sarah too felt the pull between them; the magic was practically crackling around them, heralding the emanate outcome of their inevitable joining. Yet she continued to deny him; to turn her back on their obvious connection, to taunt him and bait him…and oh Gods did a part of him revel in it! Even when she’d slapped him in the bloody face, in front of his entire court, a part of him had felt alive like never before. 

Oh yes, he’d felt an inner rage the likes of which that could have very well reduced half of the Underground to rubble…but he’d also felt an igniting spark; a fervent passion, the heights of which he hadn’t even know himself capable of reaching. Gods help him, he needed it; needed that spark, that passion, he needed **her**.

“Ugh…I hate you, you arrogant slimeball,” Sarah grumbled sulkily, seemingly tired of raving at nothing but empty air.

She slumped against the rough rock wall at her back, with a prolonged, defeated sigh. Jareth’s lips twitched in mildly exasperated mirth once more, as he continued to watch his queen from the surveilling vantage of his crystal. Sarah could keep right on saying how much she supposedly loathed him until she was all but blue in the face. 

Her petulant words didn’t just erase the undebatable fact that during the all too brief moment when they’d danced when he’d pulled her close and felt the soul-shaking sensation of his very essence crying out to her. He had seen an answering cry crouching in the back of her own gaze. What he felt, he didn’t feel alone…he just needed to get her to admit it; to get her iron will to bend and submit. 

Oh but therein lay an insurmountable task if ever there was one. Gods knew the girl had a rebellious streak wide enough to span the entirety of his kingdom. May the great Horned God have mercy upon his wretched soul! Jareth watched with cautious curiosity as his _firefly_ slowly collapsed to the oubliette’s filth-covered floor, her head hanging listlessly. 

_Oh sod it!_

Jareth’s previous stirrings of remorse were beginning to writhe along the edges of his conscience once again, and he could scarcely stand it. Regret had been an all but alien concept to him before Sarah, and ever since she’d come charging into his life, he felt the unsettling sensation far more than he cared to admit. He knew he had to teach her, to mold her into a queen, to make her see that his way was best, but perhaps he could leave well enough alone for one night. Maybe it was time to go to her and escort her back to her chambers.

Yet just as Jareth was about to dissolve his spying crystal and transport himself to the Oubliette, which currently contained his future bride, he saw his Sarah’s hanging head suddenly snap up, her face lighting with a look that was a heady mix of determination and inner contemplation. He could all but hear the gears of her voracious mind clicking and whirring, her eyes flickering with a myriad of silent self-posed questions.

 _What are you up to, precious thing? And why do I get the unsettling inkling that it will irritate me to no end?_

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Sarah sprung to her feet, with apparently renewed spirit and began to intently search along the perimeter of the stone walls.

 _What are you looking for darling?_

Just as the thought echoed in his brain, Jareth saw his _firefly’s_ eyes alight with satisfaction, a victorious grin splitting her mouth wide. Instead of giving into his previous inclination of transporting himself to her side, Jareth stayed right where he was; his curiosity adequately quipped. What new mischief was his incorrigible queen brewing?

“Ah ha!” he heard Sarah cry, as her eyes snagged on a grouping of small boulders along the edge of a far wall.

 _What in the name of the Gods…?_

Then it dawned on him. The bloody dwarf had shown her the hidden exit that all oubliettes contained when he’d gone to fetch Sarah during her Labyrinth run. In the domain of the Goblin King, oubliettes were not solely used as prisons. Sometimes Labyrinth guards used them as a refuge against the elements, during bad bouts of weather. In the rare case of an enemy invasion, they could even be used as fail-safe hiding places. Jareth had also heard rumors of past Goblin Kings using them as secret retreats, in which to conduct clandestine liaisons, away from the prying eyes of their queens and court. 

It was for those additional uses that all oubliettes were equipped with enchanted doors, which were hidden in each stone cell and available for the use of only those with the exclusively given knowledge of how to implement them. The girl had been unintentionally privy to the secret of the enchanted exits, and evidently, the clever little minx had recalled the dwarf employing one during her previous confinement. 

Jareth gritted his teeth in bitter vexation, as he watched his upstart of a queen bend over and retrieve a dust-covered, ramshackle door, from behind the outcropping of boulders.

“Yes!” Sarah crowed as she lifted the moldering assemblage of planks from its hiding spot and practically skipped over to a clear expanse of bare stone wall.

_Pah! She isn’t holding it in the right direction. The knob is facing the wrong bloody way if she’s hoping for the exit._

“Ha! Piece of cake!” the defiant chit giggled, far too pleased with herself. 

Jareth clenched his jaw so tight, it was truly a marvel that it didn’t crack under the pressure. How he **loathed** that bloody, buggering phrase! He’d put her in the damned oubliette to teach her a much-needed lesson in obedience, and there she was undermining his attempt at regaining control and all but laughing in his face as she did it! 

For just a sliver of a second, Jareth entrained the notion of materializing in front of Sarah, only long enough to snatch the door from her grasping clutches and leave her completely stranded in the dank blackness for the rest of the night, just to spite her…

_Let her laugh then!_

But no… 

No, he decided to let the girl try her hand at actually making the door function properly. Indeed, there was a trick to getting the quirky object to open to the exit. Jareth very much doubted Sarah recalled precisely what the dwarf had done because currently, she wasn’t even holding the door in the manner in which one would access the exit. It had been a good seven months since her last time in the Labyrinth, after all. Sarah would more than likely fail to make the door work, he reasoned with no small amount of satisfaction.

She would undoubtedly pout, whine and declare how sodding _unfair_ it all was, then once she’d had a proper snit and the last vestiges of her hope had dissolved to nothing… **then** he’d appear to her and take her back to her rooms. First, Jareth decided, he’d let Sarah truly learn her lesson. He would allow her to come to the inevitable conclusion that defying him would get her nowhere; no matter how clever she was, or what a _piece of cake_ she mistakenly thought his Labyrinth’s challenges to be. 

The girl dearly needed to realize, once and for all, that there would be consequences for open rebellion. She needed to understand that the outcome of their standoff in the Escher room had been a fluke. Never again would she be able to claim she conquered him. Sarah thought her will as strong as his? Pah! 

The girl hadn’t the slightest clue as to how set he was in his resolve this time, but she would learn. Jareth knew all too well what if felt like to be cast aside, to be bested, and the horrid gnawing emptiness it had spread all throughout him, like a rampant disease. No, that wouldn’t be happening again. He’d rather drink from the fetid waters of the Bog itself! One way or another, Sarah would learn her place.

_Click!_

The door locked into place as soon as Sarah pressed it against the wall, a look of giddy triumph alighting her lovely features. The Goblin King’s previous smirk returned with a vengeance. It was almost a shame to see his Sarah disappointed a few seconds later when she threw the rickety door wide… _almost_.

“What the hell?!” 

Jareth couldn’t help but chuckle lightly to himself when his _firefly_ gaped in utter stupefaction at the tatty little supply cupboard she’d opened the door to, instead of the oubliette’s exit. Supply cupboards were kept in every oubliette, for those such as the Labyrinth’s guards, whom occasionally needed to use the hidden cells as a shelter. 

The Dwarf himself had forgotten that the door facing one way meant it opened to the supply cupboard, the exit the other. From the look of the utterly despondent pout currently overtaking Sarah’s previously smug grin, she didn’t at all recall how the dwarf had righted the situation.

“Oh yeah…this happened before. How did Hoggle fix it again? If I could just remember…” Sarah murmured to herself, as she began to pick through the meager contents of the cupboard.

“Didn’t he twist the knob a certain way? Was that it? No…” She grumbled as she pulled out a dust-covered black wool cloak, which had decidedly seen better days.

Sarah shook out the tattered garment, coughing at the sizable dust cloud it emitted. She ceased before too long and gave the piteous, moth-eaten thing a dubious look, before shrugging it on over her bare shoulders and securing the rusted metal clasp at her throat. Jareth supposed she must be somewhat desperate. It had to be frightfully drafty in there…and his queen was only wearing a corset and thin skirts. His chest involuntarily tightened with a pang of remorse.

“Hmmm…what else is in here?” Sarah mumbled as she continued to rummage through the shoddy store of time-worn items.

Jareth watched her cast aside a moldering wheel of cheese, which looked to be about a millennia-old, laughing out loud at the face she made when she’d put it too near her nose. A rusted sword and what looked to be a hole-riddled ladies lace parasol were also discarded by an increasingly irritated Sarah, a rather adorable scowl settling upon her pretty face. 

“Ugh! This is all junk!” his petulant queen fumed, as she threw a lone, stained sock over her shoulder.

Jareth laughed again. Really, what did she expect goblins to pack a cupboard with? What in the name of the Horned God had she hoped to find in there anyhow?

“Oh…hey…these might work!” Sarah cried with sudden excitement, as if in direct answer to his thoughts, and pulled out a pair of positively filthy looking (goblin-sized), brown-furred boots.

Jareth’s lip involuntarily curled with distaste. Was the future queen of the Goblin Realm going to put those diseased looking things on her feet???

“Hmmm…they look a bit small, but I do have small feet…” Sarah mused to herself and plopped down on the dirty floor, practically tearing the embroidered slippers from her feet.

With red-faced, grunting effort, his Sarah actually managed to squeeze on the grubby goblin boots. By the way she winced and the way the shabby fur looked to be positively strained at the seams, they were no proper fit.

“Tight, but they’ll do,” Sarah mumbled to herself, as she slowly came to her feet, wincing all the while.

That was it! He was putting an end to the madness. A queen shouldn’t be attiring herself in filthy, ill-fitting goblin cast-offs! The whole affair was utterly ridiculous. He was going to transport himself to her, then send her right back to her-

“Hey! Wait a sec; I think I remember!” his gallingly determined queen suddenly cried out, within the gloom of her stone cell.

Jareth instantly stilled. Tight-lipped curiosity gripped him hard, as he watched his _firefly_ abruptly close the door on the supply cupboard and tug at the portal’s worn edges until the door came loose with an audible _pop_. With a broad grin that was entirely much too cheeky, Sarah flipped the door and fixed it to the wall once more; the knob magically appearing on the opposite side.

Blast, she **did** remember! Jareth gnashed his teeth, as he quickly calculated his next move. He could go to her, reprimand her, take her back to her rooms...where she would only proceed to ignore him and learn absolutely nil! 

_Or…_

**Or** , he could simply let her venture outward; allow her to learn her lesson via her rash actions. Little did Sarah know, the exit she was about to traipse through didn’t lead to the cavern of false alarms, like the one she and the dwarf had taken before, during her run. No, nothing as benign as fibbing stone carvings awaited her beyond the door this time. If he recalled correctly, the exit attached to the particular oubliette Sarah was currently in, lead straight into the heart of Firey territory. 

Jareth sneered at Sarah’s image, shining resplendent in his crystal. She stood before the newly opened door and childishly clapped her hands with irksome glee when the view on the other side wasn’t once again the insides of a poorly stocked supply cupboard.

_Yes, precious thing, do go on and venture out of your comparatively safe haven. Let us see if you still think this all a ‘piece of cake’ when you reunite with that same barmy lot that thought you would be so very improved without your pretty head attached to your shoulders._

He would allow her to bumble out of her cell and encounter the loathsome feathered nutters; allow them to overwhelm and frighten her, as they’d done before, then he’d step in and take her back to the castle. However, they **wouldn’t** touch her. If any of the revolting creatures even so much as laid but a single warty finger upon his queen, they’d find themselves drowning in bog water before they could so much as yank off one of their hideous, knobby limbs. Still, his Sarah would doubtlessly learn a thing or two about gratitude and obedience from the experience. 

Jareth watched, his jaw clenched tight, as his _firefly_ paused in the darkened doorway, her head peeking tentatively out into the pitch-black cavern, on the other side of the doorframe. After a moment of apparent silent debate, Sarah ducked back inside the oubliette, just long enough to retrieve a lantern from the wall and pull up the cowl of her tatty, pilfered cloak. With a deep, steadying breath, the girl made her way from her temporary stone prison and into the inky oblivion beyond.

Plopping down in one of the leather armchairs in front of his fireplace, the spying orb automatically following, the Goblin King impatiently observed his defiant queen’s tedious journey through the gloom of the winding cavern. The dim, sputtering lantern Sarah grasped in her left hand, cast an array of sprawling, sinister shadows before her. From the telling hesitancy in her steps and the way her white-knuckled right hand clutched at the breast of her cloak, Jareth could tell she was frightened. 

He was instantly filled with a burning, clawing impulse to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and murmur in her ear that she needn’t fear a thing; that he would protect her from any threat foolish enough to near them…but Sarah needed to learn. She needed to know that rebellion begot nothing even remotely pleasant. 

Jareth only wished his blasted insides would stop knotting themselves at the thought of how alone she must feel. His thundering heart felt as if it had somehow traveled upward and was strangling the air right from his throat, a thoroughly disconcerting sensation. 

When Sarah reached the end of the twisting cavern, Jareth found himself turning away from his crystal; unable to bear the sight of her small hand trembling with evident fear, as she reached for the narrow wooden door before her. 

_Bugger…if this is what remorse feels like, it’s no wonder I’ve made it a point to seldom allow myself to experience the loathsome sentiment._  
Jareth inwardly lamented.

When his hesitant gaze returned to the orb, the Goblin King trepidatiously watched his _firefly_ open the door at the end of the cavern, with a wince-inducing creak. Sprawling beyond the cavern exit, was a picturesque forest, blanketed in a gleaming coat of snow, glimmering with an almost pearlescent sheen in the waxing sliver glow of the moonlight. The Fireys’ patch of forest was always among the most visually pleasing spots in his Labyrinth, any time of year. However, in winter, Jareth thought it particularly lovely. More the pity it was infested with a raving band of feathered lunatics.

Sarah paused in the doorway of the cavern exit, clearly shivering beneath the shoddy protection of her time-ravaged cloak and Jareth’s heart once again squeezed with an irksome pang of guilt. His queen’s eyes scanned her surroundings, alighting on one of the Labyrinth’s sprawling walls, standing tall in the near distance; visible between the narrow gaps of the surrounding snow-laden trees. Jareth recognized the determined glint in her eyes, as Sarah’s gaze swept in a silent calculation, across the distance between herself and the wall.

His queen tugged her cloak’s threadbare cowl farther down, to where it covered most of her lovely face; to keep the viciously frigid night wind at bay, Jareth surmised. 

“Come on feet,” he heard Sarah mumble from beneath the shabby cover of her cowl, her lithe frame beginning to tremble with the doubtlessly harsh, chilling bite hanging heavy in the air. 

From within her tattered cloak, Sarah enfolded her right arm about herself, hugging the worn fabric tight against her shivering body; her left trembling as she held her sputtering lantern out before her. That blasted constricting twist of remorse was wriggling within him again, tearing through his previous reasoning like the Cleaners through the musty Labyrinth tunnelways. 

The Goblin King’s mind abruptly split into two opposing views, which instantly began to war with one another viciously. He should forget the whole blasted thing and take her back to the castle. She was cold and frightened…and truth be told, he felt like an utter lout. 

No! She had to learn, the opposing side of his inner conflict argued. If he didn’t bring his _firefly’s_ defiant nature to heel, then it would be an exercise in certain disaster. His father had often taken the easy way out; had let his queen win each and every time their wills had clashed and nothing but tragic misery had come of it. 

Gritting his teeth in renewed resolve, Jareth reminded himself that everything Sarah was currently doing had been all by her own choosing; all of it done by her own hand.

_Not the oubliette though…you put here there. She is merely trying to make the better of a piss-poor situation, which you practically flung her right into._

That cursed inner voice, which now often jeered within his skull that everything he did was all bloody wrong, whispered snidely in Jareth’s mind.

If **she** hadn’t struck him, then there would have been no need for the sodding oubliette in the first place, he reminded his torturous conscience. He was only allowing her to follow through with her chosen course of action…

Focusing on his queen once again, Jareth couldn’t help but chuckle when Sarah stepped away from the doorway she was currently huddled within, to discover that she’d stepped right from the trunk of a snow-dappled tee. He watched her circle the tree, openly goggling at there being nothing but air behind it. Sarah paused to stick her head back inside its gaping door, then stepped back and circled it once again. 

Jareth could all but hear the flummoxed snarl of her thoughts, as Sarah’s lovely face displayed a shifting array of emotions. She was unmistakably mystified and awed; annoyed and intrigued. The marvels of his realm fascinated her, called to her, even in the midst of an unpleasant predicament. 

_This is why you belong here, precious thing. This is why you belong with me._

With one last look at the perplexing exit she had passed through, his queen abruptly turned on her heel and proceeded forward, with a confident, determined stride. Jareth could tell by the hurried pace with which Sarah marched, that she was hoping to find a door along the wall; one that led to a shelter of some sort. Clever. 

Jareth recalled there being a door on that very wall, nearly directly across from the direction in which Sarah was headed; its steel-banded, wooden expanse currently obscured from her view by the clustering of thick, snow-smattered tree trunks, but he knew she would find it soon enough. 

However, allowing Sarah actually to pass through said door, was probably a terrible idea indeed. It led straight into the Wildlands; the dangerous, unprotected territory, outside the northern boundary of his Labyrinth’s walls. The Wildlands were still a part of the Goblin Realm and were technically under Jareth’s rule, but it was a place that not many ventured unless they were of the inclination to bid the land of the living a bitter farewell. 

It was for that very reason, that Jareth often sent the vexing fox knight on so-called _quests_ , within that region; hoping that one day the blasted creature would fail to return. Alas, he **always** did and Jareth was regrettably still yet to be spared from Didymus’ incessant yammering.

No, his queen couldn’t be allowed to venture through that door. It was entirely too dangerous. The sorts of beings that resided within the wildlands made the utterly mad Fireys look like gentle, benign souls. Just as the thought of the irksome feathered lunatics sprung up within his mind, Jareth saw (from his view within the crystal), that a fire had just bloomed to life not too terribly far from where Sarah currently trudged.

“Finally! Don’t let it go out this time, dummy!” he heard a shrill voice squawk.

_Speaking of the barmy, feathered annoyances…_

Jareth couldn’t help but grin, with just a smidge of snide satisfaction, when he saw Sarah’s booted feet abruptly still in the snow, her cowled head snapping in the direction of the freshly lit flames.

“If you don’t quiet down, I’ll throw your leg on the fire instead of this here branch!” Jareth heard the distinctively smooth tone of the Firey ringleader, echo through the night-shadowed woods.

“Hey! That’s against the rules! You can’t throw other people’s legs on the fire! Only your own leg!” the screechy one cried, with ear-splitting indignation.

“Oh no…” Sarah murmured to herself in a horrified realization of just whom was lurking out in the woods and immediately tried to shield the dim glow of her lantern with her cloak.

“Hey! What’s that over there? Is that a light?!” Jareth heard another of the vexing creatures chime in, this voice slightly deeper and more gravelly than the others.

Jareth knew it to belong to the girthy one of the bunch; the lackwit who seemed to think toying with his tongue a thoroughly entertaining choice of pastime.

“Say, yeah! That is a light!” the one with an accent, bizarrely similar to that of humans who hailed from the Jamaican islands, chimed in.

“Shit!” Sarah hissed and tore at her lantern’s latch; hastily opening it and blowing out its already struggling flame.

“It’s gone! Who’s out there?” came the recognizable voice of the Firey who had always rather reminded Jareth of an elderly man, with his two distinctive swaths of white feathers on either side of his deep-set eyes and matching swaths to either side of his protruding snout; closely resembling a bushy mustache. 

“You wanna play, whoever you are? We love to have a good time!” the ringleader called and the other four concurred with a loud, whooping burst of laughter.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Sarah exclaimed with evident panic.

She then tossed her extinguished lantern to the ground, hastily gathered the snow-wetted hem of her golden skirt and took off running in the direction of the wall; the cowl falling back from her head as she fled. Fortunately, the moon was bright enough to allow Sarah to see the path in front of her, even without the aid of her recently discarded lantern. 

For a brief moment, Jareth turned his gaze from his retreating queen and focused instead on the feathered loons sitting about their blazing bonfire; the unseen scope of his crystal zeroing in on their unsightly, pointed features. 

“Hmmm…smells human, not Fae!” the shrill Fiery declared with a prolonged sniff of the air.

“How would you know?” the portly one asked, “Where ya smelled a human before?”

“Remember? That lady was human, the one who wouldn’t play right. She wouldn’t take off her head. Smells like her,” the elderly looking one interjected after he too took in a lengthy sniff.

“I heard somethin’ bout her bein’ a queen now,” the accented one said.

“Queen or not, she needs to play by the rules this time and take off her head!” the ringleader crowed, his comrades cheering in fervent agreement.

With that, all five of them leaped to their feet, their pink, white tuft-tipped tails twitching with evident excitement for the chase.

Jareth’s focus turned to Sarah once more. He couldn’t help but feel a bit impressed. Just within that mere snippet of a moment, when he’d turned his gaze to the orange heathens, his queen had very nearly reached the wall and had done so in poorly fitting boots and a constraining corset. A genuinely spirited and determined little thing, his Sarah was.

“Hey! Hey lady! Is that you? We never finished our game!” the shrill Firey cried out.

The feathered lunatics were quickly gaining on her; their long, bony limbs were practically devouring the distance between themselves and the object of their newly captured fascination. A couple of the orange creetons had even climbed up into the snow-frosted canopy of the trees; rapidly jumping from tree limb to tree limb, like some monstrous breed of monkey. Jareth’s fingertips dug into the leather armrests of his chair as he watched, his jaw clenched tight.

“Come on little lady, we just want to finish what we started!” the ringleader called.

Sarah reached the wall, narrowly avoiding a nasty tumble via the frosty, knotted roots of a nearby tree. Jareth gnashed his teeth at the thought of how she might have hurt herself if her reflexes hadn’t been quite so quick. 

_Perhaps it is time to intervene…_

Sarah’s frantic eyes scanned the wall’s frost-coated expanse for a means of escape. Unlike the last time she had found herself in a similar situation, she soon discovered the door, hidden within a shallow, rocky alcove along the wall’s perimeter. Sarah wasted no time maneuvering herself around thinly spaced tree trunks and hazardously protruding roots, as soon as she glimpsed the glint of the metal doorknocker shining brightly in the moonlight. 

Jareth couldn’t quite suppress the twitch of his lips, as they pulled into a prideful grin. Oh but his queen was clever and brave, and so very strong. Yes, she’d demonstrated all that and more during her run of the Labyrinth, but truthfully she never failed to dazzle him with her capabilities. If only she’d channel all that vibrant, resourceful energy into something besides defying his every command and request, Jareth thought, with no small measure of bitter resentment. 

The Goblin King grinned anew when the doorknocker’s metallic visage came into view within his crystal. Ah yes, he remembered this particular knocker from his explorative trips through Labyrinth as a youth; with her upturned nose and her steely lips pursed in constant disapproval. Not to mention her shrewish, barking voice that brokered zero arguments and her all too cheeky, superior demeanor. 

This knocker cared not if the person requesting passage through her door was a mighty King or a lowly beggar. She adamantly refused passage to any and all who knocked, based merely on the fact that their presence annoyed her. She was also the only knocker within the Labyrinth who could willfully keep her door shut. Usually, once a knocker was employed, its door automatically opened, regardless if said knocker wanted it thus. 

This particular knocker, however, she could perhaps even put his Sarah to shame, in regards to sheer pigheadedness…and that was truly saying something. Therefore Jareth no longer felt any particular sense of worry when it came to the prospect of his queen going out into the Wildlands. The knocker would never allow her passage, so he was free to deal with the feathered menaces who were currently closing in on their quarry. 

With a quick flick of his wrist, his crystal dissolved into the ether and Jareth was transported directly in the path of the Fireys, in a burst of glittering light.

“Your Majesty!” the ringleader exclaimed, in evident shock, as he and his gang pulled to an abrupt halt.

The orange buffoons tripped all over themselves and each other; a couple of them losing a bony leg and/or a feathered arm, in the tangled melee.

“Hey! That’s my arm!”

“No, that’s **his** arm!”

“You’re stepping on my leg!”

“No, that’s **my** leg!”

The feathered idiots squabbled.

From not too terribly far behind him, Jareth could hear the low murmur of Sarah arguing with the surly door knocker. Regrettably, the audible clarity of their words were lost to the indigent shrieking of the tangled creetons at his feet. Not even his keen Fae hearing could prevail over their blasted squawking. 

The Goblin King’s curiosity prickled just the tiniest measure. He briefly wondered what blistering insults the knocker was undoubtedly hurling in his haughty queen’s direction, but no matter. He had more important things to attend to at the moment. 

“Let me make myself clear to you lot. Chase my queen again, so much as breath in her general direction, and you’ll find yourselves in a rather unfortunate situation, beyond all horrific imagining. Understand?” Jareth crisply informed the scuffling heap of lackwits, leveling a particularly nasty glare upon them; the kind of glare that clearly broadcasted that failure to comply to the letter would result in a great deal of pain and general unpleasantness.

“Y-yes, m-my King,” the ringleader stammered; the others quickly followed suit and offered Jareth their garbled, stuttering apologies as well. 

“Good,” the Goblin King nodded, then abruptly kicked the ringleader’s head clean off his bony shoulders.

With a trailing shout of alarm, the head went sailing far out into the night; up and over the frost-covered forest canopy. It went much farther than Jareth had thought. Not quite as satisfying as kicking a goblin, but the distance one could get with a Firey head was indeed quite impressive.

“Well? Go get it. Off with you!” Jareth glowered, making an impatient shooing motion with his gloved hands.

The gobsmacked Fireys only stood there, gawking at him with their dirty, slack-jawed mouths gaping open. However, they finally scrambled when Jareth punctuated his command with a good, sound kick to the portly one’s head; it too sailed in a perfect arc, in the very same direction the ringleader’s had flown.

“Come on, let’s go! Before he kicks all our heads!” The shrill one cried, and the vexing buffoons scurried off into the darkened woods, the headless bodies bumbling along behind.

“Now then my pet, it’s high time we discuss-” Jareth began, turning to face his spirited queen, only to be met with empty space and a thudding door closing behind, what his shock-numbed mind guessed, to be a hastily departing Sarah.

_What in the name of the great Horned God…_

Jareth could only gape at the door, whose prig-nosed knocker merely blinked at him in a bored manner.

“You actually let her through? You never allow anyone through!” the Goblin King spluttered, disliking the unsettling feeling of being taken by surprise, to the utmost degree.

“Well, she made a very valid point,” the door knocker told him crisply.

“Which was?!” Jareth snapped, feeling his ire rise, boiling hot.

“She told me that if I let her through, you and those ghastly limb-detaching creatures would piss off. It was admittedly appealing, considering all the damned noise you were all making. How is a lady supposed to get her beauty sleep with all that horrid racket?” the knocker replied with an indignant sniff, “So do kindly piss off and not make a liar of her.”

Jareth could only stand there for a rather lengthy moment, clenching his fists so tightly that the bones in his hands ached with warnings of breakage. He wondered if bogging a door knocker would seem overly daft.

“Thanks to you madam, I now have to retrieve my future bride from a region positively teaming with beings of a murderous nature, so time is of the essence. However, mark my words. I shall return later when I have the time to properly savor the moment and use my power to rust your impudent mouth shut for the rest of bloody eternity!” Jareth snarled, to which the knocker only rolled her metallic eyes.

With a parting curse uttered under his breath, the Goblin King transported himself to the other side of the door. It was a genuinely fortunate thing for his little _firefly_ that she had his heart so hopelessly ensnared, otherwise he might have come to the conclusion that she wasn’t worth all the bloody effort it was to keep a step ahead of her and left her to the outcome of her own rash impulses. As always, living up to Sarah’s expectations was utterly exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have there be only one Jareth POV chapter before switching POVs. As always though, it got too long, so I cut it off and will resume Jareth's POV in chapter 11.
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. You guys are awesome and really help encourage me to move forward with this fic. <3  
> *throws 'I love you all' glitter*


	11. Of Possible Futures and Things That Go Bump in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jareth follows Sarah into the treacherous territory of the Wildlands. He lingers, unseen, behind her trudging steps, while he ponders the startling changes in his own magic, as well as a bizarre and wondrous occurrence from earlier that evening. 
> 
> The Goblin King soon decides that the Fireys hadn’t been enough to scare a bit of sense into his spirited queen. Therefore the plan is as before, to allow Sarah to become frightened by an encroaching threat, then sweep in and play the dashing rescuer…but you know what they say about best laid plans and all that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! So sorry about the hiatus! A crazy amount of things have been going on in my life right now, some good…some the very opposite. I’ll touch on that in my after notes. Anyway, a **lot** happens in this chapter! So I hope it’ll make up for my months of silence. Oh and yes, there’s some fluff in this one and a bit of romatical-type feels ;)
> 
> *Throws ‘yay for romantic-mush’ glitter*

* * *

_Listen to the tales the Dark Forest tells. The wind blows through the boughs. Is that a sigh…or a shriek…or just a snicker?_  


_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire: p. 42)_

* * *

On the other side of the dividing wall, the Goblin King leaned sulkily against its snow-spotted expanse, the cold biting into his gold tailcoat. Frigid wetness seeped into the fabric at his back. His lip curling with annoyance, Jareth waved a gloved hand before himself and just like that, his richly appointed ball garb instantly transformed into far more practical attire: his black leather armor and his ground-sweeping black woolen cloak. 

The convenient change of clothing wasn’t just a glamour either, like the magic-made illusions he’d cloaked himself in whenever venturing into the world of humans. No…this was an honest-to-the-gods conjuring, the actual items of desired clothing resting assuredly against his chilled skin. 

Jareth couldn’t quite suppress the wide grin of satisfaction creeping about his lips, for the task he’d just completed, despite his liberal use of it during the past months, was suddenly just a bit **too** ironically amusing, considering the source of his fairly newfound ability to summon his power, without using a crystal as a conduit. 

Yes, small bits of conduit-free magic had always been within his means; basic glamours, his ability to shift to his owl state and the like. Little did his Sarah know, the simple touches they’d shared since he’d first made her acquaintance in his owl form, had strengthened his magic to levels he’d never before known, had never before dreamed of. Just from her heedless caresses, her fingers ghosting across his feathers, Jareth had found himself able to vanish and conjure all manner of things. Objects at first, then living beings, all without the aid of his crystals.

After the powerful and unsettling moment during their blood oath, when they’d clasped their bleeding palms together, and that breathless riot of sensation had swallowed them whole, Jareth had found himself inexplicably capable of feats that equally baffled and awed him. His newly gained ability to heal, for example, had been quite the shock to discover, to say the very least. 

In fact, Jareth was still a bit rattled by the recent find, not quite grasping how such a thing was even possible. In truth, he was utterly flummoxed as to what it could mean. Oh, how he despised not having clear answers readily available! 

As he very well knew, a lack of knowledge equaled weakness, and the Goblin King vowed himself to be well and truly done with the loathsome, wretched state known as venerability. His six-month-long wallow in self-pity had truly educated him on just how detestable weakness and a lack of comprehension (in regards to life-altering matters), could be. He would be sorely damned if he ever found himself in such a pathetic state again. 

If only his blasted family archives had been of any real use, then he might have some bloody semblance of an answer to the tempest of questions currently whirling within his brain! The information the archives held on the subject of Fae and _firefly_ interaction had been gallingly limited. 

Besides the previously discovered bit of information (regarding a _firefly’s_ ability to amplify a Fae’s power and how prolonged exposure to such a human would grant him the ability to be less jarred by the sudden influx of power said human would alight within him), there was bugger all to be gleaned from the dusty, moth-nibbled pages of the royal records.

Jareth had even stooped as shamefully low as transporting himself to the great library, within the Elven Kingdom. He’d snooped about their records, late one night, when all the scribes and scholars, who tended the so-hailed palace of knowledge, had long since retired to their beds. Perturbing enough, the pompous blowhard elves, who did nothing but boast of their supposedly superior intellect, had even less on the subject of _firefly_ and Fae interaction than he’d dredged up within the walls of his castle. 

_Superior intellect indeed. What an utter load of rubbish!_

Why in the name of the Gods, was there not one scrap of truly useful information to be found? Surely his situation couldn’t be so unique, as to have never before occurred with another, in all of Faeire…could it? He was genuinely beginning to wonder.

In the passing weeks since the blood oath, Jareth had searched just about everywhere for any true clarification on the matter. In a moment of sheer desperation, he’d even paid a visit to the befuddled old fool who laughably called himself a Wiseman. 

Of course, it had been of no real surprise to Jareth, when the old bellend had only given him a bunch of rambling rot about important answers only revealing themselves in moments of _“true importance.”_ Well, when bloody else did one need answers of importance, other than in times of well… **importance**?! That went without saying! 

Furthermore, why would he be asking if a moment of said importance hadn’t yet arrived? What could be more important than going out of one’s own sodding mind, not understanding the baffling changes happening to one’s powers?! When Jareth had retorted thus, the supposed Wiseman’s entirely too cheeky hat had tartly informed him that he must be _“cranky”_ because his pants were _“too tight”_ and supposedly cutting-off his circulation. 

The whole affair had ended in a great deal of shouting (mostly Jareth ranting at the far too saucy piece of headwear, while it made rather rude noises in his general direction). Despite his sparking temper, the Goblin King had spared both the rambling old man, and his sharp-tongued head covering, the sorry fate of a bogging, an oubliette, or the Cleaners.

Despite the burning temptation, Jareth had known he couldn’t very well punish the Wiseman for a rambling, vague reply. No, that would be akin to punishing the sun for setting at night or ridiculing the wind for blowing northward. Besides, the sodding Goblins would very well stage an uprising, if he were to carry out any action of a threatening nature towards the Wiseman. 

The ridiculous things practically thought the old man the Underground equivalent of Nostradamus and all but worshiped him with a reverence that admittedly, even made the Goblin King just a tad envious. So Jareth had left the befuddled Wiseman to his nonsensical ramblings, some rot about blood soon-spilled further weakening a gate. Gods only knew what that was supposed to mean! Thus he continued to seek his much-needed answers elsewhere.

What a fat lot of good that had done him though! He hadn’t even been aware of his ability to heal, until earlier that present evening, when he’d transported himself to his _firefly’s_ chambers…

_Crack!_

The loud snap of a frost-brittle twig had Jareth’s gaze instantly chasing the sound directly to its source, his previous train of thought momentarily abandoned, as he watched his reckless queen wade into the gloom of the Wildlands, not but ten feet from him. 

With a deep-set scowl marring his brow, Jareth only stood there, silent and unseen along the dividing wall, as the rebellious little hellion continued on, into the skeletal snarl of the winter-ravaged trees ahead. Their bare, twisted limbs looked all too much like grasping, clawed arms, eagerly reaching for his _firefly_ …desperate to pull her into their sinister embrace.

Swallowing down a curse, as a prickle of unease snaked a cold, tingling trail down the nape of his neck, the Goblin King drew an invisibility glamour around himself and followed silently behind his bride-to-be. The inherent stealth and grace that came of being born a child of Faerie loaned itself to the task of continuing on without making even the smallest of sounds. 

Once again, the two warring factions of Jareth’s mind began to clash against one another, in a tumult of contradicting thoughts…

He should go and pluck Sarah up, transport her back to the castle, where he would keep her under unrelenting lock and key until her two weeks in the Underground was up and she was back in the land above. 

No…she still had yet to learn a much-needed lesson. 

Alas, the lackwit Fireys hadn’t been enough to scare a bit of sense into his upstart of a queen. Thanks to the insufferable meddling of that bloody doorknocker, Sarah now thought herself ahead and somehow winning their infuriating power struggle. How anyone could think as much while venturing into the Wildlands, with only the moonlight to guide them, was beyond Jareth. 

The cheeky girl was probably currently telling herself it was all a sodding _piece of cake_! Jareth clenched his teeth tight at the thought. Yes, perhaps his Sarah needed to properly stare the consequences of her rash actions right in the warty, malevolent face. The feathered creetons hadn’t been enough, not nearly so. 

Well, if his queen needed to cross the path of a **real** baddie, then so be it. He’d be right behind her to whisk her away if any present danger got **too** close, but she still needed to learn that nothing good came from defiance. If anything, perhaps the experience would make his Sarah think twice before running headlong into danger again. 

She’d gotten bloody lucky during her labyrinth run; everything had somehow managed to work itself out in her favor, even the bits he hadn’t orchestrated. The unfortunate thing with luck was, it was a fickle, frigid mistress indeed. Sooner or later, the well of good fortune **always** ran dry. 

That truth was a bitter pill even he’d had to swallow, on more than on occasion; one of the most cutting being when Sarah had unexpectedly trounced him at his own game. Well, she’d learn soon enough, Jareth mused. The Wildlands were practically teaming with opportunities for her to do so.

Just ahead of him, Jareth noticed Sarah’s small frame had begun to wrack with violent shivers; her teeth making an audible _click-clack_ chatter, as she continued her quaking, labored steps ever forward. The silly chit was only wearing a threadbare cloak, a corset, and a skirt that was now half soaked through with snow! Of course, she was freezing her pretty little arse off! She should have thought the better of charging headlong out into the elements!

Without further thought, Jareth flicked his fingers in Sarah’s direction; effectively casting a warming charm upon her. He watched in satisfaction, as her body visibly relaxed, her tremors abruptly ceasing. It really wouldn’t do to have an ice cube for a queen, although, the prospect of all the many delicious ways he could use his body to unthaw her own, had Jareth grinning as wide as the proverbial cat who ate the canary. 

Sarah immediately paused her forward trek, looking startled at the sudden change to her body temperature. She yanked down the cowl of her tattered cloak, her head whipping every which way as if she were trying to ascertain the source of the inexplicable warmth that had suddenly banished away the biting chill. Of course, she didn’t spot him; his glamour effectively shielding him from her seeking gaze. 

For a prolonged moment, Sarah merely stood there, looking utterly gobsmacked as she circled in place, still searching for some semblance of a viable explanation. Jareth found himself biting down upon his lip, to keep from laughing aloud at his queen’s comically flummoxed, wide-eyed expression. She was rather adorable when she was caught at a complete loss, he mused, suppressing another chuckle.

When Sarah finally continued forward, with a muttered _“So damn strange…”_ Jareth followed, his mile-wide smirk plastered securely to his lips. On and on The Goblin King followed his _firefly_. Her golden glow illuminated the dark tangle of the endless, snow-slogged woods, as they ventured forward; she gallingly determined and he the silent shadow at her back. 

Time seemed to run fluid as they marched on, into the moon-shadowed darkness and Jareth began to wonder just how long they’d been walking. Moments? Hours? Who bloody knew! Weren’t they now somewhere near the spot where he’d caged _the monster_ , all those years ago? This stretch of woods did look unsettlingly familiar. Surely not though…that had been way further out. Hadn’t it? Again, he hadn’t a clue! 

The only thing that was abundantly clear was that the woods he and Sarah were marching through were irritatingly void of menacing presences. Of course! Just when he needed dangerous, wild Fae to do their sodding jobs and be…well… **dangerous** , they seemed to all be abed, like a bunch of elderly matrons who were set to rise early, so that they might attend their bloody quilting circles the next day! 

The wind didn’t even make a sinister howl through the buggering trees! Alas, everything was quiet…and irritatingly enough, even rather peaceful. 

For a moment, the Goblin King toyed with the idea of conjuring something sufficiently threatening and just getting it all over with. Just as he lifted his hand to do so, Sarah’s words from their meeting in the throne room, a month prior, came wafting back into his memory.

_“I want your absolute word that you won’t pull any fast ones. No tricks; no underhanded BS.”_

Blast…he’d already skirted the conditions of the blood oath within a razor-thin margin, with all that Alex Greene nonsense, but he’d had a ready-made loophole with that one. Conjuring a beastie to coax his queen’s compliance would more than likely be a violation of the ‘no tricks’ condition. However, no stipulation had been made about her barreling headlong into danger all on her own. So doing the deed the hard way it was.

_Damn…_

Jareth’s scowl deepened as he trudged behind his headstrong bride-to-be.

_Troublesome creature…I can scarcely decide whether I want to throttle or kiss her…_

_Kiss…_

With that internally whispered thought, the Goblin King found his mind wandering back to earlier that evening when he’d stolen into Sarah’s room while she slept. The whirl of lingering of emotions from that perplexing encounter still simmered within him, causing his drifting mind to relive it in vivid, minute detail.

* * *

_~Earlier that Evening~_

Jareth stood over his slumbering queen, his fists clenched at his sides, his brow furrowed deep in irritation. He’d come into her chambers to notify her that by no means was her attendance at his welcome ball optional and then he spotted her, looking so small and fragile, lying in her enormous silken bed. She clutched the stuffed bear he’d conjured for her, tightly to her chest, as if clinging to a lifeline.

He knew very well that she’d missed the original Lancelot. He’d watched, many a time, from the vantage of his crystal, as Sarah eyed the stuffed toy with evident wistful longing, whenever her little brother toddled about with the now filthy bear clutched tightly in his chubby, little fist. Evidently, she approved of the replacement he’d provided. 

The Goblin King’s heart squeezed with an unnerving sort fluttering warmth, as he crept closer still; his previous annoyance with her refusal at his invitation, all but forgotten. It was as if he were inexplicably pulled by that same unseen force that had urged him on, with feverish desperation, the day he’d first laid eyes upon Sarah. The sensation of being pulled, of being drawn to her like the unwitting moth to a burning flame, should have frightened him.

It **should** have made Jareth want to turn and run from the room as if a swarm of biting bog flies were at his back, but strangely enough, at that moment, it didn’t. In truth, he found the feelings stirring within him just as oddly fascinating as the unruly creature lying before him; her dark hair splayed about her head like a rich, cocoa halo, her thick, sooty lashes resting serenely against the alabaster flesh of her cheeks. 

Gods…how his Sarah took his breath away. She looked like some divine apparition; a dream-haze image of a slumbering nymph, portrayed in the most delicate crystal; as if she’d shatter into a million pieces if he dared to touch. However, Jareth very much knew the truth of it. Sarah wasn’t nearly as fragile as she looked. Beneath her angelic, porcelain veneer, his bride-to-be had a core of solid steel, a quality that both equally rankled and charmed him at times, in spite of himself. 

As Jareth lingered there, standing over Sarah’s sweet, slumbering form, he couldn’t help but notice the regretful evidence of her earlier outburst over the painting. In the dimness of the shadowed room, his _firefly’s_ glow illuminated her lovely face, just enough for him to see her swollen lower lip. Without thinking, Jareth reached out a tentative, gloved hand, his fingers lightly trembling for some galling reason, unbeknownst even to himself.

Bending over his intended, Jareth gently used the tip of his pointer-finger to part Sarah’s lips, to properly survey the damage; his cautious touch as light as the brush of a pixie’s wing. He couldn’t quite keep from wincing, once he saw the angry scarlet marks her teeth had rendered on the delicate flesh of her mouth. 

Instantly he was filled with a sinking sort remorse for goading her, no matter how Sarah might have deserved the much-needed taste of her own medicine. Perhaps though, his chosen form of reprimand shouldn’t have been quite so harsh…

Without really thinking, merely surrendering to impulse, Jareth found himself lowering to seat himself upon the mattress, right next to his sleeping queen. Gods, how she had ensnared him, bewitched him, dulled his senses and drove him to the brink of utter madness. She was both his fondest daydream and his worst nightmare, given human form. 

It truly and utterly terrified him, just how helpless he was to resist her. Sarah had thought his offer of becoming her slave a mockery made at her expense; a false promise readily rolling off a silver tongue to entrap her. Oh but if she’d only known how genuine it had really been, how genuine it had **always** been. In truth, the Goblin King hadn’t needed to offer her a thing, because he’d already given her all that he had. 

Had he not well and truly become her slave the very moment he’d laid his gaze to her glimmering form? Had he not already given her his heart, the promise of his kingdom, the promise of a crown, the unspoken promise of someday planting the seed of new life within her womb? 

Oh the future they would weave together, bright, shining and filled with endless possibilities, Sarah only needed to give him control, give him the reigns, before she sent them both careening into a complete disaster. Weren’t they practically halfway there as it was? It certainly felt as much. The sort of disaster his Sarah promised had a peculiar kind of allure all its own; to drown in her, to utterly lose himself within her, it would undoubtedly be a demise of the sweetest kind.

Suddenly lost to the resplendent sight of her, Jareth cautiously bared his weight upon his forearms and slowly…ever so carefully, as not to wake her, he bent his face to hers, his forehead gently resting atop her own, their lips a mere fraction apart. The heady, exhilarating smell of her (wild honey, sunshine, and the fruity hint of her preferred shampoo), filled his nostrils, his lungs, made him all but drunk and breathless on her scent alone.

Desire-mingled longing gripped Jareth hard, bearing down on his ever-weakening resolve. His sudden welling of feverish yearning, quite alarmingly, drowned-out and smothered all logical thought from his mind, like thick smoke rapidly filling a room. Something deep inside him desperately cried out and grasped for the very magnetism that seemed to pulsate all about his spirited queen; a compelling, invisible force that urged him recklessly onward…and just like that, he found himself heedlessly closing the miniscule distance left between them. 

The kiss, though nothing more than a mere pressing of lips, instantly ignited within Jareth, more fire and dizzying passion than the sum total of his trysts with eager chambermaids, and skilled courtesans combined. Gods, just the feel of Sarah’s soft, plaint mouth beneath his own set a boiling to the blood in his veins, sent his heart tripping into a thundering gallop that all but threatened to punch right through the wall of his chest.

That same charge, that almost electric spark that always occurred whenever they touched skin to skin, seared into the very marrow of Jareth’s bones; engulfing him in the most delicious agony. He was even helpless to wholly stifle the groan that spilled from his mouth into hers, his staggering breath slipping past Sarah’s slightly parted lips, and finding a new home within the glorious temple of her nubile body.

The Goblin king’s entire world all but tilted upon its axis, yet his _firefly’s_ lashes only gave the slightest of flutters, her lips parting just a fraction farther in a breathy, slumberous sigh. The muffled reverberation echoed into Jareth’s mouth, sending a volley of shivers scurrying down his spine. At once, he found himself utterly unable to resist the furthered temptation of the promised sweetness of Sarah’s mouth. He needed to taste, to know the feel of her silken tongue against his own.

Madness! It was all utter madness! Jareth knew all too well, that if his _firefly_ were to awaken, everything would erupt into a giant heaping of quarrelsome chaos…and he was in no mood for the blistering lash of his Sarah’s ire. No, instead he only wanted to savor his queen, lose himself within the shadowed confines of this stolen moment, to drink in the very beguiling essence of her.

For some inexplicable reason, the very second Jareth dipped his tongue in the velvet passage of Sarah’s lips, he found himself instantly seeking out the broken skin where her gnashing teeth had issued her previous anger-provoked damage. Scarcely even knowing why, Jareth let both instinct and impulse be his guide, as he let his tongue flick over the coppery-tasting patch of bitten skin on the inside of Sarah’s lower lip.

Oh, Gods save him, his whole body ignited and abruptly went up in a white-hot inner bonfire, at the peculiar contact. Within a fraction of an instant, the Goblin King’s vision clouded and hazed. He saw nothing, save for a blinding golden light. In that glorious, perplexing, and relatively terrifying moment, it was as if the girl had somehow invaded his very soul; the essence of her glomming onto him, sealing to him so tight, he scarcely knew where his own consciousness ended, and hers began.

When Jareth’s vision began to clear, the golden haze coming to a gentle ebb, he took in a sight so wondrously bewildering, he swore to himself that he’d need nothing short of a millennium to recover from the shock fully. Astonishingly enough, he was no longer in Sarah’s rooms…and not but ten feet away, the Goblin King saw…well, **himself** , strolling through the royal peach orchards, in the sun-drenched peak of summer. 

It was if he were watching a play unfold, with himself the starring actor; yet there was no stage, no curtain, and no surrounding audience, only the sweet, sugary smell of ripened fruit and the feel of the sun’s warmth kissing his skin. A vision, it must be…

* * *

_Upon his shoulders, his vision double carried a bouncing little girl, who looked to be about four years of age, with a shock of wild golden hair, similar to his own. The golden-haired poppet wore a gown of billowing robin’s egg blue, with a crown of freshly picked wildflowers resting upon her dainty brow. Her cheeks and gown were streaked with brown earth, telling of how the child had been rooting about in the dirt, to make her pretty flowered adornment._

_The girl possessed a grin that glimmered with a hint of sly mischief that again, was reminiscent of himself. However, her eyes…oh those twinkling jade eyes, those instantly reminded him of Sarah. Once Jareth recognized that distinct similarity, half a dozen more practically leaped out at him, snagging his eye and all but demanding he take note._

_The tot had Sarah’s pert nose, her slightly rounded cherubim cheeks, the same charming dimple that would flash at him from the right corner of her mouth, whenever she smiled. The child…his and Sarah’s child, their daughter…she was beautiful…ethereal…angelic…utterly perfect. The Goblin King’s heart squeezed tight within his chest, as he marveled at the unexpected gift, given to him by whatever benevolent God who had deemed him worthy of such a boon, a glimpse of a possible future._

_“Daddy, look at that one up there! It’s so big! We could give it to Mummy, as a present,” the vision child chirped happily, pointing to a large peach, dangling high above from the silvery bough of an overhead tree._

_“Eloiny, my pet, if I presented that peach to your mum, I’m fairly certain I would be banished to sleep with the Goblins, on the floor of the throne room, for the next fortnight,” his vision-self laughed._

_“Why Daddy?”_

_“Well…you see, my sweetling…Daddy played a bit of a trick on Mummy, some years ago…and said trick involved a peach. I’m afraid Mummy still has a bit of a sore spot in that regard,” Jareth’s vision double informed the golden-haired cherub sitting atop his shoulders._

_“Mummy says it’s not nice to trick people,” Eloiny admonished, leaning her small, dirt-smudged, face close to her father’s, to gift him with a stern look, which was every bit the essence of her mother._

_“A wise woman, your mum,” Jareth’s vision-self agreed._

_“Mummy might like the peach if **I** were the one to give it to her, cause **I** didn’t trick her,” Eloiny informed her father, rather cheekily._

_“I suppose that’s fairly sound reasoning…but if Mummy gets cross, just remember, this was entirely your idea,” his vision-self nodded towards the high dangling fruit. “Now, I suppose I’m to fetch it for you, am I?”_

_“Please, Daddy? I can’t, cause when I change, my wings are still too little to go up high,” Eloiny pouted, her lower lip sticking out rather adorable._

_“Ah well, in no time at all, you’ll be soring even higher than myself, precious girl. Practice makes perfect. You will see,” Jareth’s vision double gave his daughter an indulgent smile, before lowering her from his shoulders to the ground at his feet._

_He then stooped low, to soothe the child’s rumpled, dirt-streaked, skirts and pressed a brief, adoring kiss to the center of her little forehead, before shifting to his owl form and taking wing. Jareth knew his vision-double could very well summon the fruit to his hand, with but a mere flick of his fingers, yet he suspected that his future self quite enjoyed showing off for the little princess._

_He couldn’t rightly fault himself for such a display, even if it was just a bit unnecessary. When was being admired ever truly a bad thing? Judging from the way Eloiny watched her father ascend up into leafy bough, her eyes wide and shining with gleeful awe, Jareth surmised that his future self often jumped at any given chance to impress the little poppet, and frankly, why shouldn’t he?_

_That look on the girl’s face, the look of complete and utter adoration, oh but it was truly without price; it made the Goblin King’s heart squeeze tightly within his chest and the foretelling sting of tears to build behind his eyes. Jareth couldn’t rightly recall the last time he’d ever had the urge to weep, be it from sorrow, joy, or any other form of emotion._

_For a moment he was utterly breathless. Oh, how Sarah had turned his world, had flooded his once somewhat orderly existence with such mad chaos, such feverish, senseless longing, had built a roaring bonfire within him, where there had been only a smoldering ember…and one day, she would give him this; this precious, tiny creature who looked upon him as if the entire world had sprung up from the palm of his very hand._

_Jareth couldn’t even begin to put into words how that made him feel…it was a truly indescribable feeling, a wave of raw emotion battering him within the swell of its merciless tides._

_Unable to fully process the assault of teaming emotions upon his consciousness, Jareth returned his attention to his vision-double, who was presently level with the peach his daughter had requested. He then employed his talons to the task of violently shaking the bough, until the desired fruit fell free. It landed in the little Goblin Princess’s outstretched, waiting hands, with a soft plop._

_“I got it Daddy! I got it!”_

_“Excellent catch, love! I daresay, you’ve inherited my impeccable reflexes,” Jareth’s vision-self praised the little princess, upon returning to the ground and shifting back._

_“I think Mummy really will like this peach, it’s very pretty. Thanks for getting it down for me Daddy,” Eloiny grinned widely, running a plump little finger appreciatively across the fruit’s velvet nap._

_“You are most welcome sweetling, and fortunately for us, your mother has developed quite the appetite, from all the energy it takes to grow your baby brother within her belly. Since she is currently eating for two, she just might gobble that down without complaint, or without doing me severe bodily harm. Let us hope for that,” he replied with a grin, as he scooped the child up and returned her to her previous perch upon his shoulders._

_“You’re funny Daddy,” the little Goblin Princess giggled, as her father turned and headed them back in the direction of the castle._

_“Oh yes, quite. Everyone says as much. Just ask Hoghead. He finds me utterly hysterical.”_

_With that, Eloiny giggled anew._

_“No he doesn’t Daddy! He never laughs at your jokes! And his name is Hoggle,” the princess laughed._

_“I know. As I said, Hedgewart thinks me a riot.”_

_“Hoggle Daddy! Hoggle!” Eloiny was practically breathless from laughter._

_“Yes. I just said that. I know his name is Hobbert,” Jareth’s vision-self teased._

_“No silly! It’s Hog-ell!”_

_“Gods child, do you think me completely daft? Like I said, Haber-dash.”_

_The little princess’s only reply was a burbling stream of delighted, silvery giggles._

* * *

Jolted back to his stolen moment with his would-be wife, Jareth gasped against Sarah’s mouth, his heart thundering and his mind reeling with a deluge of mixed emotions. A fraction of a second later, everything suddenly snapped into focus, and the Goblin King found himself quite unable to keep from grinning like a mush-brained fool against his queen’s velvet-soft lips. They would have a child, a daughter! Then a son…

The Gods had favored him indeed. Yet, Jareth knew then, just as he’d always known, visions could be a fickle lot. They were glimpses at **possible** outcomes, but a far cry from a solid promise of the future. He would have to continue to try to keep tight control on his unruly _firefly_ , keep her on the right path, or else the sweet vision child and her burble of incandescent laughter might never come to be, and Eloiny **had** to be. 

Now that he’d seen the luminous image of his daughter (the perfect combination of Sarah and himself), Jareth instantly knew that he could never allow a future where the little Goblin Princess and her baby brother didn’t exist, to come to pass. **Never**! They, along with their future mother, were **his**.

It was then that Jareth became suddenly aware of an odd warmth radiating from where his tongue met the bitten flesh on the inside of Sarah’s lip. Before he could even fully register the peculiar sensation, it was blazing through his mouth like a rampant wildfire, seeping into his blood, and bursting inside him like an internal wellspring of fiery liquid sunshine.

_What in the buggering name of the festering Bog?!!!_

The Goblin King tore himself from his queen, blindly throwing himself backward, as frantic as if a Nipper had miraculously taken her place beneath his lips. Jareth landed squarely on his backside, his posterior smacking mercilessly against the hard marble floor. A graceless and muffled _“Oof!”_ hissed from his mouth.

Biting back a blistering curse at the pain radiating from his rear, Jareth’s gaze flew to the still, peacefully sleeping Sarah. She didn’t even so much as twitch a muscle. He’d just witnessed a vivid, living glimpse of their possible future, had looked upon their first born child, and she had only given a faint flutter of her bloody lashes! What in the name of the Gods did **that** mean? 

Sarah had felt the strange pulsation of power and energy between them during their blood oath, but clearly, she had experienced nothing of the overwhelming force that had just flowed through him. Yet he’d been making contact with her when he’d felt it, just as before. His whole sodding world had just flipped upside-down, and he’d gotten nothing more than a slight murmur of a sigh from his queen! Damn it all; his pride was starting to ache every bit as much as his backside. 

Standing slowly, Jareth rubbed his throbbing posterior and considered what had just occurred, with a deep-set scowl resting upon his face. He’d think on it all later. He’d probably ponder over the disconcerting events of the last few moments, well into the night; long after the rest of his kingdom had since found their beds and had slipped behind the placid veil of dreams. 

However, for the time being, the Goblin King told himself that it was time to accomplish what he’d come for. He’d wake the stubborn girl and inform her that in no uncertain terms, was her attendance at that evening’s soiree, at all optional. Whether the cheeky little upstart liked it or not, she **would** become his wife, and it was due time she learned that when her King made a command, it was **not** to be ignored or debated.

Straightening to his full height, and squaring his shoulders with unyielding determination, Jareth stepped up, once again, to his queen’s bedside. However, just as he opened his mouth to bark her name and demand she heed his orders, he saw something that made the unspoken words of command wither abruptly within his throat. 

Sarah’s lip…it was no longer swollen and red. In fact, from the outside of it, it looked utterly unmarred. Yet Jareth knew for a fact that just moments prior, that hadn’t been the case in the least. Just what in the bloody hell was afoot here? With a massive storm of flummoxed irritation brewing within him, the Goblin King reached out, with a perturbingly unsteady hand, and once again parted Sarah’s lips with his finger.

With a hiss of shock, Jareth took in the sight of his queen’s perfect, undamaged inner lip. His eyes went as wide as saucers and his instantaneously whirling mind desperately tried to conjure up some semblance of an answer for what he was seeing. She was healed…how in the Horned God’s name had she just up and healed herself???

_Unless…it was that alarming heat I felt…perhaps that had something to do with it…wait a moment…did I heal her??? Did my kiss somehow repair the damage? How is that even bloody possible?!_

Only healers had that sort of ability and not even their exceptional power worked as quickly as the baffling magic he’d just experienced. Gods, how he greatly needed more information on _fireflies_! It had to be some sort of side effect of his contact with her, just like the influxes of power and his newfound ability to do conduit-free magic. 

The Goblin King’s mind reeled with awed possibility. He was positively dizzy, as a million and one fragmented thoughts and one-sided questions, piled themselves upon one another. All at once, they volleyed for his immediate attention within his shock-numbed brain. Jareth truly understood not a bit of what was happening…but…he could heal! 

His _firefly_ queen had somehow granted him a positively unheard of sort of power…and the vision, it too must have been her doing. Yet how could it be? How could any of it be? Oh, sod it, he needed to sit down! 

Sinking limply to the bed, Jareth perched himself on the mattress, next to Sarah, once again. His overloaded mind struggled to produce even one plausible explanation for what had just occurred. Of course, he came up infuriatingly short, his brain all but imploding from the mad surge of inner malformed theories.

It was then that Jareth’s gaze snagged upon the girl’s still bruised knuckles. Perhaps he hadn’t the foggiest inkling as to why things were happening the way they were; why contact with his queen was birthing such startling changes within him, but he knew one thing with abject certainty: to repeat and observe an action was to better understand it.

With sweat-coated palms, the Goblin King reached for his queen’s bruise-marked hands…carefully, so very carefully. The absolute last thing he needed was to try to explain matters to a shrill, demanding Sarah, when he hadn’t the slightest grip on the situation himself. Jareth was more than grateful for how completely knackered Sarah was. 

She’d utterly worn herself ragged with that blistering tantrum. If it had all been otherwise, he was certain she’d be currently shrieking his eardrums to bursting. Praise be to the Horned God’s name for small favors! 

Gathering both of his _firefly’s_ hands within his own, Jareth leaned forward. His heart was securely lodged within the confines of his throat, as he ghosted a tentative kiss over the knuckles of Sarah’s right hand. A familiar warmth instantly ignited against Jareth’s lips, rushing through him like a warm, honey-coated flood of liquid gold. 

This sensation wasn’t quite as intense as when he’d put his tongue to her skin. It didn’t exactly have the same breathless bite that thinly skirted the boundary between euphoria and agony. Regardless, it had the same results.

Looking down at Sarah’s once-battered knuckles, Jareth saw only smooth, unbroken skin. They looked as if they’d never even been collateral damage in his queen’s outburst over the painting; as if it had never happened at all. So it hadn’t been merely a fluke with her lip…he indeed had the gift of healing.

_How in the buggering hell can such a thing just happen, out of nowhere?_

Jareth sucked in a prolonged, shaking breath before turning his attention to Sarah’s left hand. He bent, intending to put his mouth to the abused skin there, just as he’d done to the other, when he stilled, a sudden inquiry coming to the forefront of his mind. He wondered if his chosen method, although admittedly appealing, was the only way to employ his newly discovered gift. What if he merely touched her instead?

Fingers shaking, the Goblin King ran a whisper of a touch over Sarah’s bruised hand. He felt the familiar warmth instantaneously coarse through his fingertips and seep into his bones. It was a pleasant, almost soothing sensation, like sitting in front of the fire during a particularly cold night, like comfort…like home. 

It was a feeling akin to what Jareth always experienced whenever his bare skin brushed Sarah’s, yet different somehow; it was less of a rushing surge and more of a lingering smolder. It was also decidedly a milder sensation than when he’d brought his lips to her other hand, but undeniably enjoyable none the less. It was so much so that Jareth found himself closing his eyes in pure contentment.

He wasn’t sure just how long he sat there, allowing his mind to drift and the warmth of the shared connection with his _firefly_ to wash over him, to blanket him in a kind of quiet peace, the likes of which he’d never known before. When Jareth finally cracked his eyes open and gazed down at where his fingers rested upon Sarah’s knuckles, he saw that once again, the desired results had been archived. His queen’s skin had returned to its previously smooth and unbroken state; not a single bruise or gash to be seen.

_Utterly remarkable…I did it…_

Jareth scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling a bit of what humans referred to as _“shell-shock”_. What he was supposed to do next, he hadn’t a clue. His weary mind half-heartedly presented him with a meager array of ideas that were about as appealing as drinking bog water. He could awaken Sarah. He could tell her what he’d just done. He could use it as leverage to get her to attend the ball, intimidate her with his newly discovered gift…

...and abruptly find himself in the middle of a raging hurricane of her anger and accusations…

More than likely the vexing chit would accuse him of lying; would tartly spout off that he most likely had the ability to heal all along and that he was only telling her that she’d had something to do with it, in order to sway her mind and gain the upper hand. Granted that it was indeed along the lines of something he might indeed try. Still, Jareth wasn’t quite in the mood to traverse a proverbial minefield of suspicion-induced questions.

Such questions might rile his temper and cause him to do something foolish, like blurt out information that his bride-to-be didn’t yet need to be privy to. How could he possibly tell her about the strange effect she had on him when he didn’t rightly understand it himself? He would tell Sarah when the time was right when the matter of her staying with him in the Underground was settled once and for all, and she was ruling by his side. 

Perhaps he’d even have it all figured by then. Perhaps then he could fully answer the doubtlessly endless inquiries she’d barrage him with. Until then, it would remain his secret. He’d let Sarah assume that his newly discovered talents had been within his capabilities all along. 

After all, she hadn’t questioned his ability to do magic without his crystals. She’d doubtlessly assumed such tricks had been within his arsenal all along. So it was more than likely that Sarah would come to the same conclusion when she found her injuries miraculously healed. She had never gotten the opportunity to fully learn him, back when she ran his Labyrinth, so one stood to reason that she’d never suspect a thing. 

_Bah! She hasn’t come remotely close to even somewhat learning me…and just who is to blame for that?_

The self-admonishing thought put a bitter taste in the Goblin King’s mouth. Looking back on it all, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt knot within him. How many opportunities to charm Sarah, to woo her, to make her realize just what they could have together, had he indeed squandered?

_Far too many…_

How many times during her run, had he watched her in his crystal; had seen her frightened and desperate and had known that he should go to her; should comfort her and try to make amends, but had abruptly quashed the impulse instead?

_Too many to keep a proper count…_

Blast it, there went that remorse and second-guessing nonsense again! It was like a sea of needling voices, all chanting at him that he’d let his damned pride and quick-to-rise temper get in the way. He’d lashed out at his future bride over a bloody wounded ego and had absolutely nil to show for it! Odd, how that sea of voices sounded gallingly like his father. Jareth clenched his jaw at the thought, his hands balling into tight, white-knuckled fists.

He hadn’t a single doubt that if his father could see him presently, he’d catch no end of brow-beating for the way he was proceeding with Sarah. Ever the sort to put senseless value on drivel-coated sentiment, King Adeen would have doubtlessly cuffed him on the back of the head, commanded him to pull his brain from his arsehole, and insist he gift the girl with sonnets, sincere declarations of endless devotion and the like.

That was all very well, that is, if one desired to be inevitably betrayed because they were a weak-minded, lovesick fool who lost sight of everything because they were too sodding occupied with the stars in their eyes and the way their buggering hearts went _pitter-pat!_ So what if his prat of a sire would have harshly judged him for the way he was handling things? So bloody what?! 

At least _he_ was being cautious enough not to utterly lose himself in a pair of pretty eyes! No…what he would build for himself and his _firefly_ would be so much more substantial than that. Flowers and sonnets alone would not withstand the test of a bafflingly long Fae lifetime. A solid foundation could not be built on mere sweet nothings, Jareth bitterly reminded himself. 

He would establish control, and then...then he’d spare some time and effort for the rest. He had only to remember what was riding on the line. He wouldn’t allow his kingdom to fall to ruin and his children to suffer as he had.

_Never!_

Pulling his mistrust and bitterness about him like a fortifying suit of armor, Jareth turned his mind to the task at hand. The ball. His queen would learn that when she was summoned, there would be no negotiation and absolutely no quarter given. If he desired her presence, then she **would** come to him…one way or another. 

With a flick of his wrist, the Goblin King transported himself and his still napping queen, to one of the small curtained rooms scattered throughout the ballroom; often used for guests seeking a more… _secluded setting_ , amidst the revelry. For a prolonged moment, he merely lingered over his Sarah; watching her chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of slumber, as she lay serenely spread on the quilted white settee, the sole piece of functional furnishing within the tiny chamber.

For about the billionth time since Sarah’s path had first intersected with his own, Jareth inwardly puzzled how it was even remotely possible, for such a mere human to hold such an insurmountable sway over a being such as himself. Whatever ill-humored God, fate, or unfortunate shift of the universe, that was responsible for Sarah’s _firefly_ status (the initial pull that had brought them together), it was undoubtedly a dark force with a very twisted sense of humor, to say the very least.

Steeling his spine, Jareth banished further thought on the subject. It wouldn’t serve any particularly useful purpose to keep mulling it all about until his thoughts whirled round and round, like that insufferable fox knight’s idiot mongrel, when chasing his own tail. With a clipped sigh, the Goblin King leaned forward, bringing his gloved hands within a hairsbreadth from his queen’s sprawled form.

He dared not touch her this time, lest he encounter any more stupefying anomalies, one being his decided limit for the evening. Instead, Jareth focused his power upon Sarah; let it flow from his fingertips and entwine all about her, as he pictured what she should wear to his soiree, in the forefront of his mind’s eye. Something elegant…yet just a bit teasing; showcasing her lovely form, something that bespoke of her youth and vitality, but made her look every bit the woman she was rapidly becoming…

 _And of course, it should be gold._  
He thought, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Jareth watched, feeling more than a bit smug, as his sleeping queen’s attire shifted to what he’d envisioned; a form-fitting gold embroidered corset and a sleek floor-length skirt of the same shade.

 _And a crown of peach blossoms to finish it all off, which seems oddly fitting._  
He thought, his grin pulling all the wider.

Sarah would be wearing the exact color of her glowing light, the mark of a _firefly_ , and only he, and perhaps a few other nobles of his caliber would know…and, of course, they would know better than to remark upon it. 

He’d named Sarah as his queen and future bride. She’d been all but well and truly claimed. So if the odd member of nobility were to see Sarah’s glow, they’d know it utterly futile to go sniffing about her, despite her powerful allure. Any being in the Underground, with a brain in their skull and a pair of ears attached to their head, knew one thing for sure: the Goblin King **always** got what he desired, one way or another.

With that parting thought, Jareth turned and made his way through the curtained exit, casting one last lingering glance at the girl as he went. 

_Soon, you will know as well as anyone, Sarah mine, I shall never be dissuaded._

* * *

“Yeeeeeerrrroooow!” a shrill, blood-curdling cry suddenly ripped through the still silence of the woods.

The Goblin King was immediately shaken from the cloying fog of his memory like a sleepwalker abruptly rousted mid-dream, his trudging steps instantly stilling in the snow. 

_What in the name of the great Horned God was that?!_

As if cued by his mere thoughts alone, a series yipping shrieks sounded from all around, like an insidious chorus; their sources unseen in the night-shadowed gloom of the trees.

“Yeeeeeee-yeeeee!”

“Roooow-oooow-oooow!”

“Errrrroooooooowww!”

The cries echoed all about, increasing in volume as they came, and Jareth surmised that whoever was making the unsettling ruckus, was drawing ever near. His gaze instantly cut to his queen, who stood roughly ten feet ahead of him, she too standing stock-still. Sarah looked like a hunted doe with fright-wide eyes, bristling with awareness as an encroaching predator closed in.

Well, he’d wanted something to spook her, and it very well seemed that something, or rather _somethings_ , were well on their way.

 _Excellent. Perhaps we can end this soon then. Let her get a good look at whatever’s out there; let her learn that being a cheeky, stubborn hellion leads to staring something toothy and fearsome right in its warty face, then I’ll sweep her back to the castle. Simple as you please._

However, the self-satisfied smirk that had begun to shape the Goblin King’s lips abruptly withered and fell away, as soon as he caught a glimpse of just what was making its way, or rather _their_ way, through the clustered trees. Several sets of burning yellow eyes flashed hungrily at Sarah, as the whippet-thin figures barreled into view; their signature Bakarbob bags tied and whirling from ropes, swinging feverishly over their heads. 

How they managed to swing those bloody things so wildly about, without smacking into one of the nearby trees, or each other, utterly defied all logic. The filthy curs gnashed their jagged, yellowed teeth, as they swung their deadly packs, their sickly green skin gleaming with the reeking perspiration of their efforts. 

They wore mere tatters of soiled looking fabric, covering their gender identifying bits; winter’s icy breath seemingly ineffectual to them. Jareth hadn’t a clue if they were male or female…they all looked the bloody same! 

Each one of the four little monstrosities had a collection of grotesque, goiter-like growths ringing their necks, which bulged nauseatingly from the strain of their bag swinging; Bakarbobs, a type of tuber-like vegetation known to grow and thrive on the uncleanly conditions of Tallow Goblin skin. 

_Bugger…Tallow Goblins! It just had to be sodding Tallow Goblins, now didn’t it?!_

By the Gods, he hadn’t asked for all that much, just something reasonably menacing to scare a bit of sense into his queen. Instead, he’d gotten a pack of murderous, psychopathic monstrosities that (despite their modest thigh-level height and their rather bony statures), were amongst the most deadly creatures to roam his realm.

Tallows were lightning-quick and freakishly strong, which allowed them to wield their bags, made from hollowed-out Bakarbobs, once the tubers had grown to the size of the disgusting creature’s own head. The Bakarbob skin was then stretched, tanned, and sewn to form a bag nearly the size of the goblin’s own body, which the Tallow would then stuff with the smashed remains of all their worldly possessions and used as a weapon: a **very** heavy, **very** deadly weapon! 

Jareth had once witnessed a Tallow’s handiwork on an unwitting Gnome. The Tallow Goblin had struck the Gnome with its bag, right upon the head…and there had been nothing left of the little fellow from the shoulders up, except a fine red pulp. Of all the creatures the Goblin King and his queen could have encountered, of course, they would have to be among one of the most violent and murderous species within his whole buggering realm! 

_Wish for a molehill and get a bloody mountain!_

The damned things were utterly stark raving mad! They answered to neither king nor law and valued nothing but blood and widespread chaos. Most Tallow Goblin children murdered their mothers, shortly after being weaned from the teat. It wasn’t uncommon, if one ever had the misfortune of visiting a Tallow Goblin lair, to spot furniture made from the hides of their own kin. 

Hell, a troll or ogre would be rightly considered a sweet-natured puppy-dog in comparison! Tallow Goblins only ever hunted in packs to increase their chances of taking down prey, and once said prey was dispatched, the pack members would then turn on each other, fighting to a grizzly, bloody end, until only a single Tallow stood to enjoy the spoils of the hunt. 

Yes, Jareth had wanted something frightening to rear its ugly head at the girl, but an ill-fated encounter with Tallow Goblins…that was another matter entirely! He’d wanted her scared into compliance, not dead, and if he didn’t act quickly, that would be precisely what his Sarah would be!

“Yeeeeeerrrroooow!” one of the Tallows threw back its greasy head and repeated the blood-chilling battle cry that Jareth had heard break the silence of the night, mere seconds earlier; the others instantly answering with their own variations, once again.

“Yeeeeeee-yeeeee!”

“Roooow-oooow-oooow!”

“Errrrroooooooowww!”

Their clamor was every bit as deafening as it was unsettling, Jareth observed; the fine hairs on the back of his neck involuntarily prickling…and their smell, dear Gods, their **smell**! Their odious aroma could perhaps even rival the Bog! It was like rotting flesh…coated in dead maggot-riddled Nipper shite! 

The stench of their unwashed filth practically set Jareth’s eyes to watering, despite the healthy distance between himself and the vicious little freaks. Very few beings within his realm made the Goblin King well and truly nervous. However, Tallow Goblins were near the top of that extremely short list. 

Anyone with half a brain to their name would rightly fear the small, but **very** lethal sociopaths. To encounter a lone Tallow was disaster, to encounter an entire pack was certain doom. Well, certain doom for most folk, anyway. 

He, on the other hand, was gifted with noble-born magic; plus the added benefit of the earlier contact with his _firefly_ queen. Undiluted power was practically roaring through his veins, just clamoring to be tapped into.

“Fools!” the Goblin King boomed, shrugging off his invisibility glamour like an unwanted cloak, “You had best not to think of touching even a solitary hair upon her head!”

_Eh, not entirely lacking, as far as dashing entrances go, a bit cliché perhaps, but not complete and total rot…_

“Jareth???? What the hell?! Who are these guys?” Sarah whirled to face him; anger, confusion and a healthy dash of fear, crackling bright in her jewel-green eyes. 

“We be your nightmare, peachy girl! We be the things that go bumpety-bump in the night!” one of the Tallows shrieked, in a voice that reminded Jareth of metal scraping upon metal; abrasive to the ears and utterly wince-inducing.

“Bump, bump, **bump**!” another Tallow cried, madness burning flame-bright within its ghastly yellow eyes. 

The shrieking tallow abruptly charged forward, slamming down its Bakarbob bag, not but mere inches from where Sarah stood; violently shaking the snow-caked earth beneath their feet and leaving a crater, roughly the size of a human toddler, in its wake.

Sarah let out a startled yelp that instantly caused the Goblin King’s heart to all but seize within his chest, liquid fury igniting within his veins, like spouting fire. How **dare** they threaten what was his! How **dare** they endanger his queen! 

The irony of Jareth’s immediate reaction of boiling outrage wasn’t at all lost upon himself. He’d been fervently wishing for some nasty beastie to come and gnash its teeth at his _firefly_ only seconds before! However, now that it was indeed happening, Jareth found himself all but sick with fear for his queen’s safety, not to mention a murderous rage towards her attackers, the likes of which that very well made his head feel as if it might explode!

“ **That is quite enough**! To the _Yawning Chasm of Nothingness_ with all of you! May you fall so long, that you have time enough to properly ponder just how grave a mistake you’ve made this night before you finally strike the bottom!” the goblin King bellowed, throwing his right arm wide and flicking his gloved fingers at the encroaching Tallows.

Just like soap bubbles popping mid-air, the threatening goblins vanished; off to meet their end at the bottom of the deepest, darkest chasm within his realm. It was indeed no loss. Tallows were unspeakably dangerous, not only to his queen but to his subjects as well. The Underground was all the better for having four less of their Godsforsaken ilk prowling about.

Besides, their deaths meant the secured safety of his Sarah…and that alone was worth any price. Sarah, his _firefly_ was safe. By the Great Horned God, what in the name of all the realms had he been bloody thinking, letting her wander out into this peril-ridden wasteland?! If he’d been just a second too slow, the abhorrent creature would have smashed her to mere bloody remnants!

That sobering thought had Jareth’s knees all but buckling and the air choking from his lungs, the thought of losing her completely unbearable. He felt lightheaded and more than a bit nauseous. Why had he ever thought such madness a good idea? His father had been right all those years ago…he was a proud fool. 

“Sarah, come here, love,” Jareth murmured, turning to his shaken queen; his voice far less steady than he cared for.

Gods, he just needed to touch her; hold her close and assure himself that all was well. Jareth offered her a shaky hand; feigning being unaffected was momentarily beyond even his substantial capabilities. With a twitch of his fingers, his gloves vanished, the inexplicable urge to touch her skin without a barrier, bearing down fiercely upon him. By some benevolent nudging of the fates, Sarah came to him, her palm warm and sure within his clammy, trembling grasp. 

Her touch was a soothing balm; the rapturous tingle of her _firefly_ energy instantly rushing up to meet the essence of his inner power; fortifying him, silencing his turmoil, like a sudden calm spreading over a raging tempest. It was enough to make him momentarily close his eyes, savoring the sheer bliss of the churning burst of sensation suddenly traversing all throughout his body.

“Are you alright, precious?” the Goblin King asked when at last he could form words once more.

“I…I guess so…I could have died…that thing almost crushed me…” Sarah’s voice came like a reedy whisper; her lovely face as pale as a phantom, illuminated in the moon’s silvery light. 

_Yes…you could have died…and it was my own cursed fault!_

“Jareth…I…umm…thanks…” she murmured, gratitude shining brightly within her shock-widened eyes.

A sickly tendril of guilt instantly curled its greasy clutches around the pit of the Goblin King’s stomach. 

“Do **not** thank me,” he replied, his tone coming out a bit sharper than he’d intended and he saw his queen blanch; her hand tensing within his as if she might pull away. 

“I…I only mean…please, come closer, love. I **need** you closer,” he rasped, gently tugging on her hand to draw her nearer.

After their standoff in the Escher room, Jareth had vehemently promised himself that he’d never again beg the girl for anything. Yet there he was, mere months later, doing just what he’d sworn would never reoccur. Blast it all; he couldn’t bring himself to rightly care either.

Much to Jareth’s astonishment, Sarah allowed him to enfold her within the band of his arms, her sweet sunshine scent filling his lungs; the warmth of her body pressed to his an exquisite sort of torture. He could have almost sworn that he could feel her heartbeat stuttering a rapid staccato against his chest.

As Jareth looked down at Sarah’s beautiful face, her eyes silently searching his (for what exactly, he wasn’t certain), he detected just the faintest flush of pink spread fetchingly across her cheeks. Gods, there were very few things in the world (above or below), that were even half as fascinating as the pretty rose hue of Sarah Williams’ blush. 

Jareth couldn’t seem to stop himself. He needed her closer still. Without even thinking, his hands came to rest on either side of Sarah’s flushing cheeks, his thumbs automatically caressing her divinely soft skin in slow, deliberate strokes. His pulse was like a thunderstorm in his ears, his breath a shallow rasp, as he fixated his hungry gaze upon her lips. He recalled the heavenly taste of her mouth and immediately caved more.

Slowly, deliberately, the Goblin King inched his mouth closer to his queen’s; her slightly parted lips an unspoken invitation. He was more than a bit amazed at the many liberties his Sarah was so willingly allowing him. She was all but plastered against his body and hadn’t yet attempted to slap him.

 _Ah, progress…_

Yes, while it did stand to reason that the shock of Sarah’s near-death experience was the culprit, in regards to her sudden willing demeanor, Jareth found himself too far gone to fully care about silly trifles such as pride and propriety…then again, when was propriety ever truly high on his list? 

“Well, if this just ain’t the cozy little picture! The owl king and his little sparrow, having a bit of a snog in the woods!” came a stale, creaking voice, akin to the cracking of dry, sun-rotted wood. 

Jareth froze, his lips a mere hair's breadth away from Sarah’s; shock hitting him like a violent blast of arctic wind.

_I know that loathsome voice…_

A wave of hatred-fueled fury instantly bore down upon the Goblin King; every muscle in his body was tensing, as his hands balled into tight, bloodless fists. He whirled in time to see the vile creature, who had plagued his darkest nightmares for what had felt like nothing short of an eternity, step from behind the knotted trunk of a nearby tree.

Just like the Tallows, this hideous goblin’s small stature belied his deadly capabilities. Although, Tallows, when compared to the sheer black, twisted evil that was the very essence of a Redcap, seemed like nothing but vexing mischief makers. 

“It’s been a while, little owl,” the Redcap grinned wide, displaying his pointed, charcoal black teeth; his crimson eyes flashing in the dark, like twin flames of hellfire, “Heard you’ve been lookin’ for me.” 

The reviled goblin still looked exactly as he had that fateful day: his long, white gnarled beard dotted with rotted bits of debris; his stained, worn clothing bagging on his slightly stocky frame frame; his gnarled hands with their yellowed, talon-like nails, gripping his pikestaff as if it was a cherished friend; his iron booted feet planted securely in front of him, his stance telling of an anticipated fight.

_And then, there’s the hat…that Gods-be-damned, buggering, vile hat!_

It sat upon the murderous abomination’s head, glinting wet crimson in the moonlight. The Redcap had killed recently; the blood still apparently fresh. The evil goblin, like all his abhorrent kind, wet his cap with the blood of his fallen victims after each kill. 

The Goblin King knew for a fact that the blood of hundreds stained this particular Redcap’s hat alone and somewhere within the countless layers of spilled life-force, coating that hideous scrap of cloth, was the blood of Jareth’s kin.

Jareth, took in a sharp, jagged inhalation. His throat suddenly felt as it was constricting in on itself, his eyes burning with the willful suppression of tears. He would not weep. The Goblin king **never** wept. Instead, he rallied his rage around him; felt it building like a storm deep within.

“You **dare** to show your face to me, after all this time… surely you know this will **not** end well for you,” Jareth bit out from between clenched teeth, his words scarcely audible to his ears, over the frantic hammering of his own pulse.

“What’s going on? Who is that?” Sarah asked in a hushed, fearful tone; drawing near to his side, as if she too could almost smell the reek of death hanging upon the Redcap, like an invisible mantel.

“He was my brother’s loyal assassin…and my father’s murderer. Now, he **will** pay!” Jareth spat, throwing out his arm, preparing to banish the hated goblin to the darkest, dampest oubliette within his Labyrinth; until he could think up just the right punishment befitting a king killer.

The Cleaners would be too quick an end; a trip down the Chasm, not nearly painful enough.

“Oh, I think not,” the Redcap grinned his ghastly blackened smirk, “Your vanishin’ tricks won’t work so well on me, Owl King. The Tallows were just the opening act. A warm-up, ya might say. I, on the other hand, have come fully prepared.”

With that, the murderous goblin reached into his grubby pocket and produced a disturbingly familiar object, the likes of which Jareth thought he’d never again see. There in the center of the Redcap’s clawed hand, sat an inky-black crystal; the calling card of none other than Prince Rannon.

For a prolonged, shock-ridden moment, all Jareth could manage to do was gawk at the dark, gleaming orb; brain-fogging astonishment momentarily disengaging his better instincts.

“A gift from the Raven, courtesy of the World Burrower. Did you really think your crafted prison strong enough to withstand a creature who can dig his way into any plain of existence? That’s mighty cocky of you, little owl, don’t ya think?” the Redcap cackled, “Then again, you was always too damn sure of yourself, and that’s exactly why you’ll fall.”

Just as the Goblin King’s shock-numbed mind began to once again shift into gear and register that he and his queen were in actual danger, it was already too late. Faster than the crack of a whip, the Redcap threw the black crystal; striking Jareth’s chest dead-center.

Pain…pain the likes of which he’d never dreamed possible engulfed his body, as the crystal shattered against him. Its malevolent magic burrowed beneath Jareth’s clothing and seeped into his flesh, quicker than he could even think to blink an eye. The pain was white-hot and searing, yet also dull and suffocating at the very same time, a consuming paradox of misery. Every cell in his being was alight with agony, his breath thickening within his lungs. Every inhale and exhale came in a labored, cutting wheeze.

Jareth wasn’t aware of hitting the ground, but he must have because suddenly he was looking up at the skeletal boughs of the trees, from where he lay paralyzed in the snow. From somewhere in the distance, he heard Sarah scream his name.

_Sarah…run…_

The Goblin King tried in vain to cry out, only to find himself woefully unable to even so much as turn his head.

Sudden movement from directly overhead snagged his attention. Flashing orange eyes and a leering feline smile were just barely visible in the moon’s pale glow; their owner perched contentedly within the overhead branches.

_That buggering World Burrower, I should have hunted him down when I had the chance…_

Came Jareth’s last thought, before his vision went completely black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case any of you might be concerned that Sarah is becoming a damsel in distress, rest assured, that is **not** the case here. Our girl is a fighter. She’s just a bit shell-shocked right now…but her fiery spirit will come burning right back to life in chapter twelve. ;)
> 
> This is a “they save each other” fic, so while Jareth might pull her from a jam at time or two, I promise that our Sarah will be returning the favor with heroics of her own. 
> 
> Oh, and just so we're all on the same page, just letting everyone know that this spot of trouble doesn't automatically mean Sarah forgives all of Jareth's antics or that their power-struggles are magically over. They still have a long road to journey down in that regard. 
> 
> Anyhoo, I just wanted to thank you all for your patience and continued support of this fic. Seriously, you’re all awesome <3
> 
> Ever since October, things have been crazy hectic. I posted chapter ten the day before my hubby and I took our kiddos on our yearly jaunt to the land of the Disney. I was expecting to get time to blast through chapter eleven when we returned, but things got way busier than expected and then the holidays came rushing right in. Thus free writing time got pretty scarce. 
> 
> In November, we got the news that a pancreatic tumor had been found in my father in law. We were hoping that the results of the biopsy would come back that it was benign. Unfortunately, it isn’t. He was officially diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a couple of weeks ago. He begins chemo next week. 
> 
> He’s been given good odds at beating this thing and his doctors are all very positive, so I have hope everything will be fine. Just giving everyone the heads-up, that if I go silent for a bit again, it’s not that I’ve given up on this fic. I’m just dealing with some heavy stuff right now.
> 
> Anyway, on a more positive note, I wanted to share some lovely artwork a reader did for this fic. It was done by the uber-awesome ben_solo_needs_a_timeout. You rock girly! Thanks again <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Check it out here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284675747241/)
> 
>  
> 
> Her style reminds me a lot of the artist who did the covers for the Sookie Stackhouse novels (Lisa Desimini) and I absolutely adore the covers on those books. So double win for me! lol 
> 
> Now on to the credits and sources…
> 
>  **Tallow Goblins-** Mentioned on page 8 of _The Goblins of Labyrinth_. I got a little creative with the description of these homicidal bag-wielding creatures. While the bits with the Bakarbob bags (and Bakarbob goiters), are straight from the book, a clear physical description was never given of them. There are two **very** different illustrations on that page, with no clarification as to which one is what a Tallow actually looks like. So I created my own version of their appearance, just to save my time and sanity, hehehe.
> 
>  **Bakarbob-** Mentioned on page 8 of the _Goblins of Labyrinth_. As covered by Jareth’s narrative, it’s a tuber-like vegetable (similar to a potato) that grows and thrives in the filth of a Tallow Goblin’s skin (around their necks and behind their ears). Bakarbobs can reach ridiculous sizes when left unharvested. Regular goblins grow a smaller variety of the tuber, called Karbobs…and yes, goblins typically eat these things after they harvest them. *Gag*
> 
>  **Redcaps-** This type of Goblin is a part of anglo-scottish folklore. They are often described as gnarled, small, elderly-looking men, with talon-like claws, prominent teeth, a pikestaff, iron boots, and of course, the signature red cap (which has been soaked in the blood of the goblin’s victims). They are said to lurk about in old castles and ruins. They’re generally attracted to places where violence has occurred. They’ve been mentioned in books such as _The Spiderwick Chronicles_ and the _Harry Potter_ series. I thought it would be fun to put one in this fic :)
> 
> Oh, some of you may have noticed the addition of the Brian Froud quotes at the beginning of my chapters. For my birthday, my brother in law gifted me with a bunch of Brian Froud books that I didn’t previously have in my collection. As I was flipping through the pages of these lovely volumes, some of the lines and phrases jumped out at me, reminding me a bit of this fic. (Especially the quote I added to the beginning of chapter ten.)
> 
> So of course, I **had** to then go back and add a quote to every chapter. So if you’re curious/bored, you can go browse the previous chapters and see what quotes I added to them.
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading and for bearing with me, during my times of hiatus. You are all are so lovely and I am a very fortunate writer indeed, to have readers like you <3


	12. Of Rescue Pixies and Bloodshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jareth incapacitated, Sarah finds herself alone in the horror-filled woods (perused by the Redcap), as she desperately tries to fend for herself. Of course…there’s more than just a red-eyed king killer on her trail…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bad pirate accent*  
> Yaaar! Thar be danger and a dollop O’ fluff ahead!

* * *

_Dangerous places, woods: here spirits roam untamed, ready to snare the unwary.  
_

_-Brian Froud (World of Faerie, p. 42)_

* * *

_Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god! Just keep it together Williams! Just keep running!_

Sarah’s mind screamed at her, as she raced blindly through the bare, gnarled trees. The icy, soaked hem of her skirt was clutched desperately in her white-knuckled grasp, as to prevent face-planting in the snow. Tripping would be **especially** bad at the moment, with that _thing_ close behind her. The crushing _thud, thud, thud_ of the freaky little red-eyed man’s metal boots, kept perfect time with her own frantic pace.

How the hell was he even doing that?! He was wearing freaking **metal** shoes and his legs were like half the length of her own, for crying out loud! She should have been able to totally smoke him for sure! Yet somehow he was right behind her, with that wicked looking spear thing he’d been carrying, probably pointed right at her back! 

What was he, for that matter?! He kinda looked like a dwarf, but Hoggle wasn't all creepy looking like that…and Hoggle certainly didn’t have any weird black orbs that he used to incapacitate goblin kings!

Oh god...and what had the creepy dwarf thing done to Jareth?! She’d seen that black crystal hit the Goblin King…had watched in stunned horror as he’d sunk to the ground, somehow immobilized. Or maybe worse…

She’d yelled for him, hoping for some sort of response…there hadn’t been any. When she’d tried to go to him, to see if there was anything she could do, the damn spear-carrying, red-eyed creep, had charged her and then running like hell had been her only option.

_Jareth!_

Sarah’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed tight, within the grip of a merciless iron fist, as she continued to run; her booted feet flying over the woefully uneven ground; her breath puffing raggedly past her parted lips. What if Jareth were dead?!

_No…no, he can’t be…could he?_

Why did the thought of the Goblin King being gone send a weird, hollow ache ricocheting all throughout her? How did that even make any sense? He’d done nothing but annoy, manipulate, and torment her.

_But he did save me from those nasty guys with the crushing bundles…_

Sarah reminded herself.

_He saved you from the things he was responsible for you being in the path of in the first place!_

The snippy voice inside her head (the one that was always so damn eager to piss on her proverbial cornflakes), shot back.

Hell, her bitchy inner voice was right. She was in her current predicament because the bastard had stuck her in a damn oubliette! If Jareth was dead, it would mean her freedom, wouldn’t it? So why in the hell should she care what happened to him? She really shouldn’t...she **knew** she shouldn’t…but she did...lord help her, somehow she did.

_I must be out of my goddamn mind!_

She had to get to him. She had to make sure he was okay…and if he wasn’t…then…

No, she couldn’t even think about that at the moment. She just had to keep running. She had to try and ditch the red-eyed nightmare behind her, then double-back to Jareth. 

_Eyes on the prize Williams. You can do this!_

Weaving in and out of the trees in a sudden serpentine pattern that Sarah hoped would help trip-up her pursuer, she began to loop back in the direction of where Jareth had fallen. 

_Thud, thud, thud!_

Those damn metal boots sounded like they were still right behind her!

_Fuck!_

“You ain’t gonna get away, girl! The Raven’s got a keen interest in your kind!” the freaky dwarf guy shouted from behind her, in that shudder-inducing (beyond sinister) voice of his.

How did he not sound even a little winded? Here she was, her lungs burning and a searing stitch beginning to needle her side…running for her life…in a freaking corset…and the little red-eyed creeper sounded like he was just out on a casual Sunday jog! Ugh! Her dad and Karen would so have to spring for therapy when this was all done! Being chased by the embodiment of nightmares had to be bad for one’s mental wellbeing!

That is…if she was even alive to worry about her mental wellbeing later on…  
The thought caused the back of her eyes to burn with the oncoming sting of tears.

_Just run Sarah! Don’t think about that shit right now! Just run and get to Jareth!_

Just up ahead, Sarah’s frantic, scanning gaze snagged on a jagged protrusion just barely peeking out from beneath the snow. A small tree stump most likely. It looked to be just enough to trip someone up, should they run right up on it, but not enough to be super obvious either. Especially if the _someone_ was distracted.

“The damn Raven, or whoever, can bite me! And you…you can blow it out your ass, you ugly-little freak! The Goblin King will make you pay for this!” Sarah shouted over her shoulder, her speeding stride quickly closing in on the stump.

“The Goblin King will do to you what he did to the guys with the bags!” she continued, her voice a struggle to pitch, in her winded state; her corset feeling as if it were squeezing the very life right out of her. 

A cringe-inducing cackle came from behind her. Oh god, he had the creepiest laugh ever! It was like the embodiment of all her fears from when she was little; of monsters hiding beneath her bed, or in her closet. However, everyone had egos that could be kicked. Probably even monsters.

“This _Raven_ is probably pretty weak-sauce if he has to send such a pathetic little pipsqueak like you to do his bidding!” she was almost on the stump now.

“ **Pathetic?!** If the Raven didn’t want you alive girl, I’d split your skull open like a ripe melon, and your blood too, would be wetting my cap! I’d show you _Pathetic_ then!” the red-eyed nightmare howled.

Good, she was getting to him and she was also right on the stump. Sarah hopped over the wooden protrusion, as smoothly as she could, trying not to give away that there was a tripping hazard in their direct path.

“And the so called _King_ won’t be doing much of anything once the Raven is- _Ooomph!_ ”

Daring a glance over her shoulder, Sarah saw the nasty iron-booted menace sprawled on his belly in the snow, hissing and scrabbling to get up. His boots seemed to be no trouble when he was in motion but somehow managed to be a hindrance in regaining his footing. Faerietale creatures were weird and confusing.

Fully intending to take advantage of the odds being suddenly turned in her favor, Sarah urged herself onward in a straining burst of speed. Just up ahead she could see Jareth’s inert form laying in the snow. 

_Please be okay…and please be able to get us out of here!_

Just as Sarah began to close in on the sprawled Goblin King, an ear-piercing whistle suddenly ripped through the night.

_Phweeeeeeeet!_

Against her better judgment, she stilled, the hair bristling on the back of her neck, pulse roaring in her ears; a mingling of curiosity and fear momentarily winning control over her brain. What was that?! The dwarf guy? Was it a signal of some kind? If it was a signal, then that probably meant he had help nearby…

**“Craaaaaaaaaaaw!”**

A blood-curdling shriek sounded from directly overhead and Sarah looked up, jaw gaping, to see…

_Whoa Nelly! Is that a…yup, that’s a freaking harpy!_

Descending down upon her; massive wings battering the air; wicked-looking talons poised and glinting, was nothing other than a living, breathing bird-woman! Dark feathers covered most of the creature’s body, with bits of skin showing here and there, illuminated by the bright fullness of the moon. A taught midsection and large, sagging, bare breasts on prominent display. A gaunt female face glowered down at Sarah, golden eyes flashing, pointed teeth bared.

“Holy shit!” Sarah gasped, her brain once again kicking into gear; her survival instinct slamming into her like an upper-cut to the face.

_Run, stupid!_

Without further self-encouragement, Sarah’s legs were pumping; her chest heaving violently against the constraint of her corset, as she blindly ran from the horror closing in on her from above.

_Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit!_

**“Craaaaaaaaaaaw!”** the harpy bellowed from above, once again, and Sarah began to fervently hope that the surrounding trees proved to be too much a hindrance, in regards to the creature getting too close.

Seconds later, when she tripped on the hem of her skirt and fell, belly-first, on the cold, hard ground, Sarah realized she’d stumbled into a clearing large enough for the winged monster to land. Her hopes of tree-cover providing her any sort protection were instantly dashed.

_Why in the hell did I let go of my stupid-fucking skirt?! Brilliant Williams! Now you’re probably going to die!_

Sarah inwardly wailed, wheezing raggedly, as she struggled to recover from having the wind knocked clean from her lungs.

She began to slowly push herself up on wobbling forearms; the snow completely wetting her front. Sarah’s body instantly trembled with the icy shock of damp seeping through her clothing. The weird warmth that had suddenly enveloped her, during the greater part of her journey, was gone. 

The very second Jareth had fallen, it had abruptly stopped, like someone flipping a light switch. She’d suspected that the Goblin King was somehow responsible for her sudden, miraculous comfort…and she really didn’t care to ruminate on what it meant that it had winked out like a snuffed candle, the second that goddamned dark orb had hit him.

_Please be okay…_

Sarah pleaded, silently. 

As she recovered her shaky footing, Sarah looked up, just in time to see the harpy descending straight down upon her. She then realized that **she** most definitely wasn’t going to be okay. Those evil, glinting talons weren’t poised to give her a hug! 

Within that crystalized second of morbid acceptance of her fate, Sarah found her thoughts instantly leaping to a pair of mismatched eyes and a crooked, smug grin. She hoped that somehow, someway Jareth was able to fare better than herself…at least then, one of them would have made it. Even if he was a giant jerk-wad…she didn’t want him to die.

The bite of the harpy’s talons happened instantaneously, piercing both of Sarah’s forearms with twin sets of razor-sharp agony incarnate, right through the thin barrier of her cloak. The pain was blinding; an anguished moan erupting from her throat and ripping through the night air. Sarah felt fire needling her from several different entry points on her arms; wet warmth streaking down her skin; her blood, no doubt. 

With her pulse hammering a punishing rhythm in her ears, Sarah tried to fight, her shaking hands grasping and closing on nothing but chilled, empty air. Her pinned body squirmed uselessly against the icy ground and the harpy’s caging weight. Any and all movement sent barbed blasts of misery shooting all throughout her talon-pierced arms, making her breath clog in frozen agony within her throat; her vision going dark and fuzzy at the edges. 

With terror-wide eyes, Sarah forced herself to look into the bird woman’s harsh gaze, which blazed like mercurial golden fire. If she was going to die, she was going to do so without giving the creature the satisfaction of cowering, dammit! 

The bird-woman shifted her surprisingly heavy weight upon Sarah; the monster’s sagging breasts leaking, what appeared to be milk, from the ruddy nipples; droplets of the disgusting fluid spattering against the front of Sarah’s snow-soaked cloak. Her stomach gave a nauseous lurch, her upper lip curling in revulsion.

“Such a feeble, pathetic little thing. It’s hard to see what all the fuss is about,” the harpy squawked, in a voice that made Sarah feel like shattered glass was being mercilessly crammed into her ear canals.

The creature leaned her sharp, angled face in close. Sarah could practically taste the fetid rot of carrion lingering on the bird woman’s foul breath.

“You’re hardly a prize for a king. Why you’re nothing but a waste of blood and bone. It would be **such** great fun to rip your weak human body to meaty ribbons…to feed your wet remains to my young. Too bad…” the harpy mused and Sarah shuddered beneath the monster’s excruciating grip, despite her best efforts not to show her ever-mounting terror.

Sarah gasped in a ragged inhalation, as her slight movements caused pain to burn anew where the harpy gripped her; immediately gagging on the stench of the monster’s rancid breath. She tried once again to get loose, only to feel the excruciating sting of the harpy’s talons burrow deeper into her weeping flesh. It was useless. She couldn’t break free! The damned feathered nightmare was too fucking strong! 

Letting her head thud limply against the ground in despairing resignation, Sarah braced herself to feel the sharp rip of the harpy’s talons at her throat…or her venerable belly… because that was more than likely where it was all going…

_Toby…I hope you remember me at least a little, kiddo. Sorry I didn’t get to see you grow up…_

“Don’t worry, queen-lady! I’ll help you!” came a tiny, chirping voice from somewhere behind her.

Before Sarah could even think to turn her head to see who the voice belonged to, a speeding streak of greenish-yellow light came tearing out of nowhere; barreling right into the harpy’s snarling face.

“Back off, ya big, feathered bully!”

Sarah blinked in shock at the tiny green girl, probably no bigger than the palm of her hand. She hovered directly in front of the Harpy’s wide, astonished gaze; her gold dragonfly-esque wings stirring the air with frenzied, agitated beats. She wore a dress and tiny boots that looked to be made of some sort of brown fur; her clover-green hair a wild disarray of curly, tangled snarls; her leaf colored skin shimmering in the light of the yellow/green glow that seemed to radiate from her small body. 

_A pixie…I think._

“Did you not hear the news, bird-breath? The Goblin King named **her** his queen. It’s all anyone is talking about! So I would probably, ya know, **not** mangle one of the rulers of this here land. It’s probably a bad idea. Just sayin,” the pixie girl huffed, emphasizing her annoyance at the bird-woman with a tiny open-handed slap to the harpy’s beakish nose.

“The master told the world-borrower that I should help fetch this human for him. We both know she is no more queen than you or I, lowly bug. The owl is also no ruler of mine. I remain loyal to the true king! So be gone with you, insect!” the harpy screeched, in a tone that Sarah surmised with a wince, could more than likely shatter glass.

The pixie only chortled, as if the bird-woman had made some lame attempt at a joke, and shot the creature a rather crude gesture with her tiny green hands. With that, the vicious bird-monster released one of Sarah’s burning forearms to make a grab for the pixie with her wet, crimson-coated talons. 

Sarah tried her best, not to succumb to the wave of wooziness that threatened to sweep her under, at the sight of her own blood painting the harpy’s claws.

_Keep it together Williams! Fainting isn’t going to help a damn thing right now!_

“Ha! Too slow, worm-eater! Toooooo slow!” the pixie crowed flying in dizzying circles around that harpy’s feathered head, as the bird-woman squawked in evident outrage at the taunt.

“Oh I’ll catch you, insect! I’ll catch you, rip you apart, and feed you to my chicks, while your limbs are still twitching!” the harpy screeched; her free claw flailing wildly as she tried in vain to capture the pixie,  
who was nothing but a lightning-quick blur of greenish-yellow.

“Not likely!” the pixie laughed, “Something tells me your babies are just as slow and hideously ugly as you! Poor things are probably so homely, that if I were bigger, I’d probably feel inclined to pick up a rock and smash their beastly little heads in! As a courtesy, ya know?” the small green girl giggled impishly and continued to whirl like a tiny, glowing tornado; round and round the bird woman’s head.

 

The deafening screech the harpy let out, in lieu of a reply, made Sarah’s ears ring as if she’d pressed them right to a thrumming speaker at a rock concert. It was probably safe to say that the feathered creature was good and pissed-off. 

“Ha! Catch me if you can, you saggy-titted bag of greasy feathers!” the pixie chirped, ceasing her whirling long enough to stick a tiny green tongue out at the harpy, then flitted away in a stream of glowing light. 

The bird-woman let out one last ear-splitting squawk of rageful indignation, before releasing her knife-pointed grip on Sarah’s arm and taking wing in the direction the pixie had flown. For a second all Sarah could do was lie there, the snow thoroughly soaking through the back of her clothing. 

Great, now she was wet all over. 

With a shaking breath of relief for the departure of the nightmare-inducing harpy, Sarah stood on wobbling, jelly-like legs. Shivers began to wrack her body, her teeth clacking violently together as she gathered up her sodden skirt, with trembling, cold-reddened hands; preparing to move onward and find the Goblin King.

_Oh man Jareth…when I do find you and make sure you aren’t dead, I’m going to kill you for putting me in this goddamn mess!_

Sarah growled inwardly, wincing with the movement of her of her arms, as she finished bundling her soaked skirt in front of her. Damn! Her forearms hurt like a bitch on fire! She was scared to even lift her cloak and look at the damage that the feathered hag had inflicted on her. If it hadn’t been for the pixie, Sarah figured that she would have probably been in for much worse.

_Thanks, whoever you are, green girl. You saved my life._

Sarah thought as she glanced in the direction the pixie had flown, sincerely hoping the harpy never caught up to her tiny rescuer.

Her body shaking like a new leaf in the wind, Sarah plodded forward; her steps labored as she fought against her cold, seizing muscles to progress in the direction she supposed the Goblin King was. Any direction was good as the next really, she surmised with grim realization. Who was she even kidding? She’d lost all sense of true direction during her run from the weirdo with the metal boots. 

The dead winter trees went on in an endless stretch; their bare, twisted limbs starkly menacing against the contrast of the bright, ethereal glow of the moon. She was royally screwed! She was going to die of hypothermia long before she could get anywhere near Jareth! If Jareth were even still alive…

A strangled sob lodged in Sarah’s throat, as she tried in vain to suppress the tremors slowing her steps to a sluggish crawl. Her arms throbbed and burned…her soaked corset felt like a constricting tube of ice encasing her torso…her feet ached inside her too-small goblin boots…she was **so** cold.

So…damn…cold…

“Arrrg!” Sarah yelped as one of her boots suddenly snagged on a rock, which had been unseen and half buried beneath the snow. 

She pitched forward, face-first; getting a mouthful of freezing, wet slush.

_It’s not fair!_

She wailed inwardly, as she spat out the half-melted snow, with a guttural sound that landed somewhere between a deep groan and a wracking sob.

_Stop it! Stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself! Get up and keep going! At least try!_

Sarah mentally scolded herself, as she stood back up on shaking legs; wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, as she took in a series slow gasping breaths, in a half-baked attempt at calming down. 

Halfway through re-balling her skirt, Sarah decided _screw it_ and set her half-frozen fingers to the task of undoing the clasp at the back. She awkwardly wriggled free of the soaked, hindrance of a garment; ditching the now much-hated thing right where it fell, in a heap on the ground. 

Her cloak reached to just above her knees, so it wasn’t like she’d be running around in just her panties. Even though venturing onward with partially exposed legs (on a freezing winter night), wasn’t typically the smartest move, Sarah reasoned it wouldn’t be all that smart to continue to wear something that was constantly tripping her up either, especially when it was soaked straight through. 

Allowing herself a second to get her bearings, before continuing on her more than likely doomed journey, Sarah sagged against a nearby tree; one tree, in particular, drawing her immediate attention. It was a great deal thicker than the others, it’s impressive, twisting trunk providing a much more secure spot to momentarily rest against. 

Sarah half stood, half sat, against the massive, sloping trunk. She found herself instantly leaning back to let her icy, soaked back rest against the almost assuring solidity of the tree’s oddly smooth bark. Hugging her arms stiffly to herself in a pathetic attempt to retain some semblance of body heat, she silently swore that she’d get moving in just second. She was just so damn tired… 

Wait, was it her imagination, or was the bark at her back actually kind of warm? In fact, Sarah felt her muscles begin to relax just a smidge, and her violent shivers begin to ease to a much more bearable level. Angling her head to better survey her momentary perch, she noticed that the tree’s bark was a great deal darker than all the others; it was practically onyx black. 

Yeah, so in the shadowed cover of night, all the trees appeared pretty dark…but this one was, well…it was darker than **dark**. It was almost as if it had been constructed of solidified shadow. If oblivion had a color, Sarah guessed it would be the exact hue of her tree. Weird…

Oh, wow…the bark **was** warm! It was getting even warmer still; almost like laying on top of an electric blanket. How was that even possible? Sarah’s shivering quickly eased away entirely. All discomfort sluffing off of her weary body. Delicious heat enveloped her, like a pair of strong, assuring arms. 

Damn…her eyelids felt as if they’d been suddenly dipped in lead; sliding shut almost of their own accord. Nothing felt important anymore. She’d all but forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. She could just stay right where she was, forever…

No…something was _off_ about this tree, Sarah’s inner voice of caution warned, faint and fading, somewhere in the back of her mind. She should get up and move on…but…but…she was **so** warm…and **so** sleepy…would it really hurt to close her eyes for just a moment? 

_Bad idea, Williams…_

Her cautionary inner voice warned one last time, before winking out like a light. Just like that, sleep slid over her like a thick, suffocating blanket of inky blackness, before she could further question anything.

* * *

_“Hello there, little one. How deliciously ironic, that you should find me now, all by yourself, when I have sent others out in search of you. I suppose this only reinforces what I suspected, back when I first heard of you…we are fated, you and I,” came a deep voice in her ear; all shivery velvet; all rumbly and almost sinful, with the way it made her instantly shiver._

_Who was that? Where was she now? Sarah wasn’t certain. It was like she was in a warm, cozy room that resided somewhere in the blackest part of space. She felt weightless and floaty…but oddly anchored at the same time…and she couldn’t see a damn thing!_

_The snowy forest was gone and with it, the illuminating glow of the moon. Wherever she was now, there was nothing…nothing but the feel of a solid, warm body pressed against her own; thick arms banding possessively around her waist, pulling her back flush against what she surmised to be a muscular chest._

_“Jareth?” Sarah whispered into the velvety darkness._

_No, that wasn’t right, she corrected herself. Jareth’s voice was like a warm, honeyed purr…that was, on the rare occasions he wasn’t being all cold, condescending, and jerkish. This voice…it didn’t have Jareth’s same imperious, British-like, accent. No, this voice…it was more like a gravelly rumble, with a slight otherworldly lilt to it…definitely way different than Jareth’s, Sarah decided._

_Her questing hands blindly ventured over the arms banded at her waist. Jareth was all lean, lithe muscle. Whoever held her now was, well…buff as all get-out, she surmised; her fingers ghosting over the swollen expanse of a bulging bicep._

_Eek!_

_She should pull free and get the hell out of wherever she was! It was all sketchy as heck…she needed…to…go._

_However, just as quickly as the alarm bells inside her head began to clamor, Sarah found them instantly ebbing away, drifting out into the darkness; the inky oblivion all about her, swallowing them up. No…she was fine right where she was. She was safe in the arms that held her. She was where she belonged…_

_“Let us get one thing perfectly clear, between us now,” the voice at her ear became instantly harder, not raising in the slightest, but taking on a steely quality that brokered zero arguments, “Never again say that name. I will not tolerate it leaving your lips. He is a weakling pretender; a thief. He is unworthy of such a valuable commodity as yourself. He would only squander you. Just as he has squandered my throne.”_

_Ouch! The hands at her waist tightened their grip; strong fingers digging painfully into her hip. That was it! She was so out of here! Being manhandled by some pushy creep in the dark was a total no-go!_

_But no…she was being rash, she suddenly chided herself; the thought popping up inside her brain, as if out of nowhere. There was no need to go…she assured herself; her previous alarm leaking out into the ether. She was where she belonged…where she belonged…_

_“You, my treasure, will learn to bow to my will. You will welcome me gladly…and I shall worship at your alter. You will give me all that you have to offer and with it, I will carve out the future that was always meant to be; the one that was stolen from me. In a way, I shall truly liberate you.”_

_“I’ll show you what it truly feels like, to shed your inhibitions…to live without the cage of the expectations of others penning you in; freedom. You only have to return the favor. You only have to free me, little one. Free me Sarah…” the voice rasped, in her ear, the punishing grip of the fingers at her hips easing slightly._

_“Your fondest wishes, your darkest desires…I will give you everything. Every tongue in Faeire will drip your name. Every head shall bow as you pass. Soldiers will joyfully die for you. Armies shall conquer realms in your name. I will make you so much more than a mere queen of a tired, tattered little kingdom…everything he ever offered you was so very paltry in comparison. You shall see,” the voice, returned to its previously sensual rumble, tickling the inside of her ear, the hands at her hip suddenly soothing; gently kneading the bruising ache away._

_Why did that kind of offer and those sort self-serving terms (dressed up all pretty, to resemble some sort of blessed gift), seem so eerily familiar? Sarah tried her best to recall, but her memories were suddenly like slippery, little fish; darting and squirming from between her blindly grasping fingers._

_No…she vaguely remembered now…Jareth standing before her, offering up one of his crystals; his tone hard, but his eyes pleading. He had offered her everything in exchange for her compliance too…but the difference was that some small, selfish part of her had wanted to accept._

_Now, with this man…whoever he was…she just wanted to get the hell out…of wherever the hell she currently found herself. Didn’t she?_

_No…she was fine, she suddenly realized. She was just fine and right…where…she…belonged…_

_“Hmmm…It appears my Redcap still works with harpies,” the voice crooned in her ear, “I do apologize for that. It appears that the nasty thing did a number on your arms. You should probably have a look at it.”_

_Oh yeah…the harpy…_

_How did he know? She could feel that her arms were still pretty much covered by her cloak. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone could see anything in the pitch-black of their surroundings._

_Strange…_

_Sarah’s right hand fumbled in the sightless dark until her questing fingertips were edging up one side of her cloak. Slowly, she pushed up the worn material, until her left forearm was fully exposed. Gingerly, she ran her index finger over one of the three throbbing puncture wounds the harpy had left on her outer arm. She couldn’t help but wince at the sharp bloom of pain that flared under her inquisitive touch, a hissing gasp pressing past her lips; her finger coming away wet._

_“Oh, look at that…you've got blood on yourself,” the voice tsked, the tone lightly admonishing, “Here, allow me to help you wipe it off.”_

_Again, how was he seeing anything?_

_Before Sarah could question matters further, she felt a large hand envelope her own (the one that had touched the harpy-inflicted wound). She felt herself being expertly flipped to her other side as if she weighed no more than a feather. Was she lying down? No, she was standing, wasn’t she? Weird, she couldn’t really tell._

_The spicy, scent of cloves and licorice, with just a light hint of smoldering wood smoke, filled her nostrils; warm breath caressing her face. She felt the owner of the voice shift, moving closer until she felt the press of a muscular chest against her front._

_“Free me, Sarah. Your shining life-force can rid me of this cursed prison…” the voice rasped with a strange sort of manic edge as if its owner was barely keeping himself in check._

_“I…” Sarah began, unease starting to well within her. Yet just as before, it began to dissipate within seconds; slowly draining from her, like water from a bath._

_“You needn’t worry. I only need a little. Just enough to crack the gate of this wretched place. Sadly, my world-burrower can only come through himself. His powers are woefully limited. He can take inanimate objects with him from world to world, but nothing living. You though, my treasure, you can actually grant me my freedom…and when I take my rightful place upon my father’s throne, you will be at my side; strengthening me; helping me to achieve what always should have been,” the voice told her, the hand that held hers guiding her fingers between herself and the evidently bare chest she was pressed against; her bloodied finger smearing against the chiseled planes._

_World-burrower? Where had she heard that term before…ugh…why did her brain feel like it was slogged in molasses? Her thoughts seemed to form at a snail’s pace; her senses dull and muzzy. What was wrong with her?_

_No…it was nothing…she was right where she belonged._

_The hand moving hers stilled abruptly; a heavy, agitated sigh erupting from the unseen man who pressed against her. The hand holding hers began to tighten, its grip almost punishing._

_“Gods be damned! It’s not enough! You have to give me more,” the voice demanded; the gripping hand instantly guiding hers back to her forearm._

_A strangled yelp tore from Sarah’s throat, as the hand (clamped mercilessly over her own), forcing her to squeeze her puncture wounds, as if she were trying to squeeze juice from a lemon._

_“More…I need the gate open…” the unseen man murmured feverishly._

_Sarah’s fingers ached; brutally smashed between the iron grip of the unseen man and her own damaged flesh. She felt a warm trickle slide down her skin; the burning agony of her harshly squeezed wounds making her breath come in slow, ragged pants._

_She had to get away…whatever was happening wasn’t good…but dammit, that same weird feeling (like she was being injected with some sort of mental sedative), came rushing right up in all its cloying, suffocating glory; stamping out her inner sense of alarm, like a boot heel on a lit cigarette._

_No…she was right where she belonged…_

* * *

“Ouch!” Sarah cried, her eyes flying wide open at the sharp sensation of something, or rather _someone_ , trying to tug her hair out by the roots.

“Oh! Thank Danu! Queen-lady, you’ve snapped out of it!” came a familiar, chirping voice, “Now get away from there, quick! Playing with gateways is a nasty business! Especially **that** gateway!”

Sarah found herself looking into a tiny set of jet-black eyes; no iris, not white; just tiny twin drops of ink, staring at her through the fringe of miniature green lashes. The pixie girl who’d saved her from the harpy was hovering right in front of Sarah’s face; one of her now matted, wet, braids held firmly in the little green girl’s grasp.

“I mean it, queen-lady! Get away from there!” the pixie cried, giving Sarah’s braid another sharp tug.

“Hey! Quit that!” Sarah yelped, falling off her perch on the weird black tree, in her attempt to swat the tiny hair-puller. 

Sarah landed on her knees in the snow; the biting cold sending a violent shock to her senses, reminding her that she was freezing, wet, and half dressed. Her teeth clacked together to the point of near cracking, the quaking of her body making it hard to breathe. 

_So. Freaking. Cold!_

Through the jack-hammering of her own teeth, Sarah could faintly hear an outraged squawking in the distance. The harpy? Whoa…did she sound pissed, like she was being plucked alive or something. 

“Oh don’t mind bird-breath. She’ll be stuck quite a while yet. She’s just spittin’ mad about it is all. The dumb feather-head followed me to a tree, where I hid inside a knothole. She stuck her fat, meaty claw in, trying to yank me out…but ya see, I already knew that the particular tree in which I’d chosen to hide, had **two** knotholes!"

“So I just kept shouting that her babies were ugly wart-sacks that were too hideous to even suffer living and she just kept reaching further and further in, until the idiot thing got herself good and stuck. I then flew out the knothole on the other side that the brainless sack of feathers didn’t even realize was there. Easy-peasy! Harpies are proud, stupid creatures. Insult them, or their young, and they get so enraged that they totally forget what they were supposed to be doing,” the pixie grinned proudly.

Sarah could only stare up at the winged green girl, as she kneeled there in the snow, woefully noting that most of her body felt numb…except for her arm. Her arm was on freaking **fire**!

“Oh ogre turds, queen-lady. You don’t look so good! Come on we need to get you back to your king-man. I know the way,” the pixie urged.

Stiffly, Sarah nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with a ridiculous degree of gratitude towards the little green girl.

“Th-thank y-you. So m-much,” Sarah stammered through her shivering tremors.

“Wait, we need to get you warm, or you won’t even make the walk, from the looks of it,” the pixie girl told her, digging into the pockets of her little, furred dress, and producing a teensy handful of what appeared to be some sort of shinning, silvery powder.

“I don’t use this stuff on just anyone. Been saving it since this past summer. So you should feel pretty darn flattered.”

With that, the little green girl sprinkled the scant amount of dust over Sarah’s head.

“Now, wish for warmth,” the pixie instructed.

“Ou-out l-loud? Or in m-my he-head?” Sarah chattered, every word a struggle to work from her quaking jaw.

“Doesn’t matter,” she pixie shrugged, “It’ll work either way.”

_I wish to feel warm._

Sarah thought, almost hesitantly. 

Here she was, probably in critical condition, making wishes on stars (or powder, rather) like a freaking preschooler! However, any and all doubt she had, quickly evaporated the second a wave of blissful heat began to radiate from the crown of her head. It traveled downward, rapidly unthawing her near-frozen extremities, making her breath come without struggle and causing feeling to return to her limbs.

_Oh thank god!_

Yeah, her clothing and most of her hair were still completely soaked, but it now felt similar to coming out of a pool in the heat of summer; wet but comfortable; refreshing even. If only her arms didn’t ache like a _mother_ , then she’d feel almost right as rain.

“Whoa…weird…” Sarah murmured, coming shakily to her feet.

Tentatively, she touched the top of her head, marveling at the sliver residue that marked her fingers when she took them away, shimmering like they’d been dipped in liquid starlight.

“Huh. So pixie dust is real after all…like in Peter-” Sarah began but was abruptly cut-off by a huffing, agitated green girl.

“Don’t even mention that insipid piece of garbage that dares to call itself a book! I still have a bone to pick with a certain Scottish boy over that falsified pack of lies! Too bad, he’s long since dead…and by the by, this ain’t no _pixie dust_ , it’s called _cry powder_. It’s made from crystalized unicorn tears.”

“It comes in quite handy in a pinch; grants small wishes and the like. Can’t do anything too big; transporting is sadly beyond its capabilities. Otherwise, I’d just have you wish yourself to your kingy, but even limited, it’s still pretty useful stuff.” 

“Pricy as heck too! As it was, I had to give a certain letch of a bodach, a pearl I stole from a sunbathing siren’s hair **and** let him feel my bubbies over my dress, just for the bit I gave you! He offered me more, to rub his knob through his trousers, but a lady’s got to draw the line somewhere. Ya know? So I kicked him right in his stones and took the rest,” the pixie quipped, with a shrug of her tiny shoulder.

Sarah could only blink at her; a riot of questions, suddenly volleying to be voiced, filling her skull to near bursting. Where to even start with all of that?!

“Ah-ah-ah, no time to chat, Queen-lady. We gotta’ get out of here, and quick. You probably have all sorts of trouble chasing ya and the cry powder will only last so long. So we best- Oh goblin-shite!” The Pixie’s onyx eyes nearly bugged out of her tiny skull, “You didn’t get any blood on the gateway, did you?! **Please** tell me you didn’t!”

The green girl gasped, flying close to Sarah’s left side and hissing like a spooked cat. Sarah’s gaze lowered to where the pixie seemed to be gawking. Peeking from beneath the hem of her sodden cloak, Sarah saw that her hand was streaked with dribbling blood; drops of falling scarlet staining the snow in a macabre pattern. 

No wonder her arm stung so bad! Gasping in alarm, Sarah raised the side of her cloak to find the harpy’s puncture marks weeping freely. The skin around the wounds was a bright, angry red, with a slightly bruised, purple tinge. 

Raising her right arm from the wet confines of her cloak, Sarah saw that it too was punctured and bleeding, yet the skin around the damaged area wasn’t even half as brutal looking as that of her left arm. Faint scraps of recent memories danced through her head, like dissipating wisps of smoke. Where had she just been? In a dark room…somewhere? Where?

_…and there was a man…_

Sarah knew she hadn’t seen him though…only felt him. He’d grabbed her, right? She faintly recalled him squeezing her arm. She couldn’t remember what he’d said to her though…damn, why couldn’t she remember?! She did, however, recall that he’d been mad at her…displeased by something she hadn’t been doing right…but what exactly that _something_ had been, refused to properly congeal within her memory.

_Damn…what’s wrong with me?_

Everything before the dark room was as clear as day; running from the dwarf guy, the harpy attacking, the pixie girl saving her…it was all there, except for right after she’d rested on the weird black tree. When it came to that part, things got hazy; as if she were trying to recall something from way, way back, instead of an incident that had literally **just** happened. 

“Oh for Danu’s sake! Queen-lady! There’s a streak of your blood right here!” the pixie squeaked, panic-tinged alarm making her small, high-pitched voice especially shrill.

Sarah focused her gaze on where the pixie now hovered, just in front of the freaky black tree, a distinctive smear of scarlet dead-center of its twisting trunk.

“Oh this is bad, queen-lady…this is **really** bad!”

“I…I don’t understand…and why do you keep mentioning a gateway? I don’t see anything like that around here,” Sarah asked, feeling a twisting curl of panic begin to jack-knife within her gut.

She was missing something important here…and according to the pixie, it was most definitely not a good _something_. 

The green girl didn’t answer her. She was far too preoccupied with desperately trying to wipe the smear of Sarah’s blood off the bark of the weird tree, with the back of her tiny sleeve; grunting and growling with the expended effort. Just as Sarah was about to open her mouth to offer help, the pixie abruptly ceased her ministrations to let out a pitiful, defeated sounding, groan.

“Orc balls! It won’t come off!” the green girl moaned.

“And why exactly, is that so bad?” Sarah ventured, a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t like the answer, making her stomach feel as if she’d just swallowed a pile of rocks.

“Never mind that right now!” the pixie snapped, “We have to get out of here! Fortunately, I don’t think he got enough to get out. Otherwise, this tree would be split wide open by now and we would probably be deader than a fire sprite diddling an ice elf. Still, we gotta go! Come on! Move your skinny, human arse, queen-lady!”

“B-but…”Sarah stammered, a million questions burning on the tip of her tongue.

“Move!” the pixie all but screamed, flitting forward and motioning Sarah onward, with an urgent waving of her tiny arm.

Sarah figured that it was probably best to just shut up and do as the green girl instructed. She swallowed down her assortment of needling questions, for the time being, and began to jog briskly behind her bossy pixie companion. 

“Come on! Keep up! You humans are such a slow lot!” the green girl called from over her shoulder.

Sarah found herself going into a full-on sprint to keep from falling too far behind; the squeezing grip of her corset woefully reminding her that deep breaths weren’t all that possible. Even with her new hurried pace, Sarah had a feeling the green girl was severely holding back, speed-wise. Damn, those little dragonfly wings were fast!

“I’m pretty sure your king-man is just up ahead! Spotted him lying around here when I was coming back to find you after I tricked bird-breath into getting herself stuck!” the pixie called back to Sarah, as she led the way at a break-neck pace.

Sarah’s heart gave a stuttering lurch upon hearing that Jareth was still lying in the snow. No, she wasn’t going to think about what that could mean. She was just going to get to him. Everything else would come after.

_Just keep running! One crisis at a time Williams!_

They’d only gone a small distance more until Sarah heard a sound that made her heart all but seize-up within her chest and her blood to run ice-cold.

_Thud, thud, thud!_

“Oh shit!” Sarah gasped, looking over her shoulder to spot the glint of metal boots winking dully in the moonlight, not so far behind them.

“What?! What’s wrong?” the pixie asked, turning mid-flight, “Oh nipper shite! Queen-lady! You have a Redcap after you too?! A **Redcap**?! For Danu’s sake! Is there a highly dangerous, bloodthirsty creature in these woods that **isn’t** after you?! What’s next? An army of spriggans?! A hoard of orcs?! Wait no, don’t answer that! Don’t wanna tempt fate, she’s a vicious cunt! Come on, this way!”

With that, the pixie ducked abruptly to the side and into a close, clustering of trees. Sarah did her best to keep up; her pulse thundering in her ears, louder than the sound of those horrid goddamn metal boots! 

“In here!’ the pixie was suddenly by Sarah’s ear, tugging sharply on one of her braids, pulling her into what she quickly assessed to be an old burnt-out tree.

There was just enough room for Sarah to squeeze herself inside, the green girl perching tensely on her shoulder. The faint, smoky aroma of burnt wood lingered in their cramped hiding spot. Sarah tried to calm herself, and even her breathing, by recalling the only other time she’d been in a tree like this; last year when she’d gone to visit her aunt Susan in California, during the summer. 

Her aunt had taken her camping in the redwoods in Humboldt County. She’d told Sarah that burnt-out trees like these were called _Goosepens_ , due to early settlers keeping geese or other such foul, within their hollow trunks. Sarah tried to focus on that pleasant thread of memory; strolling through the _Avenue of the Giants_ with Aunt Susan; the feel of her hiking stick clutched firmly within her hand; the warmth of the sun breaking through the forest canopy…

_Hold it together, Williams! Don’t freak out! Maybe he’ll pass right on by…_

It was then that Sarah’s unfocused gaze suddenly zeroed in on something lying on the ground not but twenty feet away from her and the pixie’s hidey-hole…something dressed all in black, with long, pale hair spread over the even paler snow…

_Jareth!_

They’d found him! Well, more like stumbled upon, but who the hell gave a rat’s ass about the details!

_Thud, thud, thud!_

The creepy dwarf guy didn’t sound too far off. He was closing in. Which meant she had to do something quick…or rather **they** had to do something. A snippet of thought that just might pass as somewhat of an okay plan (if one was being generous), hastily bloomed within Sarah’s frenzied mind.

“Hey, pixie girl,” Sarah whispered on a reedy, trembling breath to her companion, “I need you to do something for me. Quick! Look out there. The Goblin King is lying just ahead. Go fly into his cloak. Wiggle around. Make all the noise and fuss you possibly can and don’t stop until I tell you. I’m going to try and take care of creepy Mr. Metal Boots.”

“But-” the green girl tried to protest.

“Go! Now! Please trust me on this!” Sarah implored, shout-whispering her desperation into the tight, dark confines of their makeshift refuge.

“Okay. I hope you know what you’re doing, Queen-lady,” the pixie murmured and launched herself from Sarah’s shoulder; streaking across the short distance to where Jareth lie, in a speeding blur of shining yellow-green.

Sarah too fervently hoped that she, in fact, knew what she was doing, as she watched the pixie tuck her slight form into the front of Jareth’s cloak. Sarah’s personal mental forecast of possible outcomes wasn’t very optimistic, but she knew she **had** to do something. Suicide mission or not, at least she’d go down swinging! 

_Thud, thud, thud!_

The creepy metal-boot-wearer sounded as if he were almost right up on her hiding spot! Nearly woozy from the sudden (and rather intense) spike in her adrenaline, Sarah silently willed the pixie to proceed with her requested _performance_. 

_Come on green girl…come on!_

“Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrg! Eeeeeeeeeeek! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrg! Arrrrroooooooooo!” the pixie suddenly wailed, thrashing her small body around from beneath Jareth’s cloak, as if she were having a tiny epileptic fit, “Marrrrrrrrrrrrg! Eeeeeeeeeeek! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg!” 

If their lives hadn’t been in serious jeopardy, Sarah might have laughed at the sheer amount of ridiculousness currently going on. The pixie was really going for it! If only that smug, jerk of a Goblin King was awake to see what was taking place on his own personage…oh man, Sarah swore she would pay good money just to see the look on his face! 

But Jareth **wasn’t** awake…and he might not ever be again…

Why the heck did that thought make tears prick behind her eyes? Why did it make her feel like she couldn’t possibly get enough air to her suddenly aching lungs?

_Breathe dammit! Get your shit together Williams! Eyes on the prize, remember?!_

Sarah thought with a broken, shaky inhalation.

Just then the dull thud of the much-hated metal boots ceased their thudding, right outside her _Goosepen_ refuge, just out of Sarah’s line of sight.

_Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit!_

Sarah instantly held her breath, head spinning with an anxiety overload, as she pressed her back flat to the charred inner bark of the tree. She silently prayed that she’d meld enough into the shadows of her woefully shallow hidey-hole. She also sincerely hoped the creepy dwarf guy couldn’t hear the clamor of her heart slamming mercilessly against her ribcage, because to Sarah, the sound was all but deafening.

“Barrrrrrrrrrrrg! Meeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg!” the pixie continued to thrash from under Jareth’s cloak, sounding like an unfortunate cross between a dying sheep and a constipated banshee.

Nothing from the metal-boot-wearing creeper. Not a sound. No sign of movement. Nada! 

_Please go check it out! Please go over there! I need you good and distracted!_

Sarah pleaded silently; raw, welling tension pulling every muscle in her body impossibly taut.

Then, just as if her desperate thoughts alone had compelled him, the dwarf cautiously edged into her line of sight; his disturbing red eyes fixated on the thrashing lump of the groaning pixie, under Jareth’s cloak. 

“Aaaaaroooooooooooog!” the pixie girl screamed, her voice pitched, as though in a frantic death throe…a really, **really** silly one. 

With her heart practically choking the air from her throat, Sarah dared not to so much as even blink. With her jaw clenched tight, she watched the freaky dwarf guy creep warily forward still, gripping his spear at the ready. She just needed him to move a bit a closer; just enough so that she could slip from her refuge unseen, so she could make her move.

_Come on…come on!_

There! He was close enough to Jareth, and the still groaning pixie, that his back was now facing her; Sarah’s _Goosepen_ hiding spot no longer within his line of sight. Perfect! She had to be quick though. She couldn’t let him hurt the Goblin King or her new pixie friend. Failure was so not an option!

_Come on Lady Luck…fate…the universe…whoever’s out there! Please help me pull this off without dying or getting anyone else killed!_

With that silent plea echoing through her mind, Sarah slipped from the hollowed tree, as quiet as she could possibly manage. She was ridiculously thankful for the green girl’s continued melodramatic wailing. It provided a much-needed sound-cover so that she could proceed with her mad scramble to find some sort of weapon. 

Making a pathetic attempt at keeping her breathing even, so she wouldn’t hyperventilate and faint dead-away, Sarah began to claw at the snow around her hollowed tree. She fervently hoped to uncover a large rock, a tree branch, anything she could smack the creepy metal-boot-wearing-bastard in the head with. 

After scrabbling away for precious wasted seconds, with only turning up handfuls of frozen leaves and other such useless debris, Sarah glanced towards the red-eyed creeper’s progress. Shit! The bastard was almost right upon them, his spear poised as if he were planning to stab straight through the wiggling, wailing pixie lump and impale Jareth in the process!

_Oh god, no!_

The green girl had saved her skin several times over, in just the minuscule amount of time they’d been in one another’s company. She couldn’t let the poor pixie be Shish-Kabobed! Also, if Jareth weren’t already dead, he certainly would be after the spear-wielding, red-eyed psycho was done! Lord help her, she **couldn’t** let that happen!

Standing, from where she’d been crouched in her futile search for a makeshift weapon, Sarah made the split-second decision that something drastic had to be done. Said _something drastic_ would more than likely get her killed…but it **had** to be done. 

At least if she died, she could gloat to the Goblin King (if he also died) that she’d nobly perished while coming to his rescue, while he’d been inert in the snow, like a useless lump…in whatever version of the afterlife the Underground had to offer. 

_Here goes nothing…_

With one last deep, fortifying breath, Sarah squared her shoulders, cleared her mind of all other matters, except for the insane task ahead…and charged. Her boots flew over the snow, as her vision narrowed down on the spear-carrying creep. She silently prayed she was quick enough and that the pixie’s fake death throes covered the sound of her rapid footfalls. 

The red-eyed nightmare was still poised over Jareth’s prone form, weapon at the ready. It was as if he were silently debating the best course of action; whether just stabbing whatever was thrashing beneath the Goblin King’s cloak, or lifting the fabric to see what was making all the commotion, was the best course of action. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggg! Bleeeeeeeeeeeeh!” The Pixie continued to groan as Sarah closed in on her would-be attacker.

She was almost on his creepy ass! Sarah braced herself to shove all her weight forward and knock the nasty little psycho to the side. He had seemed to have a hell of a time getting back on his feet when he’d fallen earlier, so Sarah reasoned that shoving him down, as hard as she could, was probably her best (and only), shot.

_Okay…now!_

Sarah threw her hands forward, palms flat out, hunching down a bit, as to better reach the little creep…she had several feet on him, that had to give her some sort of advantage! She was nearly within reaching distance…

“Not so fast there, girl!” the red-eyed monster suddenly whirled on her.

A clawed hand shot out and gripped Sarah painfully by the wrist, the unexpected action happening so quick, she hadn’t even had a second to so much as cry out.

Damn! She’d been played! He’d **known** she’d been lurking around nearby and had used the charade of acting like he’d spear Jareth, pixie and all, to draw her out! She could see it in the way his withered lips pulled back into in a blackened, knowing smirk. 

“Got ya now, little sparrow. Fell right into my trap, you did. Come, it’s time to meet your new master,” the dwarf guy sneered; tugging sharply on her arm as if to urge her onward to whoever the hell it was that he called _master_.

Sarah immediately dug in her heels, planting her feet firmly as possible, on the snow-covered ground.

“Let go of me, you nasty creep!” she hissed, trying to tug herself free, but the red-eyed nightmare’s grip was like an unyielding iron vice.

“Hey! Let queen-lady go!” the pixie was suddenly buzzing angrily in front the dwarf’s face, circling his head like some enraged, oversized bumble bee, poised to sting.

“Go pester someone else, bug, before I squish you!” the dwarf spat in annoyance, trying in vain to swat the green girl with his spear.

When his weapon proved to be a sorry excuse for a pixie-swatter, the creeper let out an infuriated snarl and tossed it a bit to the side. With his other hand still firmly gripping Sarah’s wrist, he then tried (rather uselessly), to nail the green girl with the back of his hand. The pixie was far too fast for him; dexterously dodging his gnarled hand in an impressively effortless display of speed and agility. 

“Up yours! You smelly bag of rot!” The pixie jeered, continuing to circle his head, faster and faster, to the point where Sarah swore she saw the creep’s hideous red eyes go cross; his free hand still furiously swatting at the air, hitting nothing every time.

He was distracted…if ever there was a time to make a move, Sarah knew it was then. Cautiously she edged a foot out, trying to discreetly catch the hilt of the discarded spear with her boot so that she might drag it over to where she could grab it. 

Frustratingly enough, she found that it was **just** out of her range. Besides, the red-eyed bastard’s nasty, gnarled hand still held her wrist in a bruising, tight grip. For such a small guy, he was freakishly strong!

Even if she did somehow manage to drag the weapon over with her boot, she would never be able to bend and retrieve it without drawing his attention right back to her.

_Damn! What the heck am I gonna do?!_

Just then, a snippet of the green girl’s earlier ramblings suddenly came hurtling back into Sarah’s mind, like someone throwing her a desperately needed lifeline.

_“So I kicked him right in his stones…”_

Without further thought or pause, Sarah stepped in closer, reared her right foot back, and kicked the creepy bastard, as hard as she could, right in his creepy bastard nuts! He went down like a ton of bricks; his grip on her wrist instantly releasing, before his knobby knees hit the ground. 

“You...vile...little...cunt!” the dwarf gasped raggedly, holding his doubtlessly aching _family jewels_ in both his clawed hands.

“Quick, queen-lady, go see to your king-man!” The pixie shouted.

Sarah wasted zero time rushing towards Jareth’s prone form, still lying there (unmoving), right where she’d seen him drop earlier. Her heart gave a panicked, jarring lurch against the confining cage of her ribs.

_Oh god…please don’t be dead! I won’t let you be dead! I’ll kill you if you’re dead!_

With that gloomy train of thought tearing through her head, Sarah threw herself on the Goblin King, to where her knees straddled either side of his thighs. To hell with propriety and how he would mercilessly tease her if he were conscious. She had to make sure he was okay! 

Leaning in close for a split second, Sarah could have sworn that she saw Jareth’s chest rise just the tiniest fraction, with the shallowest of breaths. Then again, it could have just been desperation-fueled wishful thinking.

“Wake up, jerkface! Your dumb ass got us in quite the jam! Now you need to fix it!” Sarah shouted down at him, doing the only thing that came immediately to the forefront of her panicked mind.

She hauled back her right arm and slapped the unconscious Goblin King, **hard**. A weird, pulsating heat instantly bloomed against her palm, as it struck Jareth’s cheek; startling a frightened gasp from Sarah’s lips. No, it wasn’t just the stinging of her skin colliding against his either…it was almost like that freaky sensation that she’d experienced with him, during their oath in the throne room…just not quite to the same degree of intensity. 

What in the hell had just happened?! She’d slapped him earlier that same evening and it hadn’t been like _that_ …whatever _that_ had been!

Before she could question anything further, Jareth’s eyes flew open, his duel-colored gaze blazing agitated fury up into her own.

“What in the name of the Gods are you doing woman?! Why in the bloody hell are you suddenly so infatuated with striking me?!” the Goblin King gasped furiously, yet Sarah couldn’t help but note how his arms involuntarily locked around her waist, pressing her instinctively close.

Lord help her, that gesture did not do a weird, fluttering thing to her heart! It did **not**!

Jareth was okay! He was okay! Why the hell did that flood her with a staggering sense of relief and ignite within her, the inexplicable urge to press her mouth to his and kiss him completely senseless? The multiple brushes with death must have done a number on her head because clearly, she’d lost her damn mind!

“Umm…queen-lady? We might want to get out of here now!” the pixie cried and Sarah felt the green girl’s scant weight plop down on her shoulder.

A quick glance behind them had a fresh burst of panic-mingled adrenaline shooting straight through Sarah’s veins. The creepy dwarf had crawled his way to his spear and was using it to shakily pull himself to his feet; hissing in pain all the while, but his red eyes clearly blazed with murderous intent.

_Shit…_

“Craaaaaaaaaaw!” a familiar blood-curdling cry sounded from overhead and Sarah looked up to see the harpy circling above them, her swaying flight pattern suggesting that she was searching for a proper place to land.

_Double shit!_

“I need you to get us out of here, Goblin King! Right now!” Sarah gasped down at Jareth, her white-knuckled hands clutching at the fabric of his cloak, giving it a sharp tug of urgency, “Come on!”

The Goblin king only blinked up at her for an endless second, seemingly woozy and a bit disoriented, before giving a stiff nod and clutching her tighter to him. Just as Sarah heard the staggering steps of the dwarf’s horrid metal boots begin to lurch towards them, the nightmare-filled woods blurred around them. 

Their surroundings distorted to an abstract haze and the ground felt as if it was shifting beneath them…then, just like that, Sarah blinked and they were on the hard marble floor of her room in the Goblin Castle, sprawled before the still blazing fireplace.

They were safe! Holy crap…they’d made it! Had they **all** made it though?

“You still with me, pixie girl?” Sarah murmured, awkwardly turning her head to the reassuring sight of a small, glowing form still perched on her shoulder.

“Yup…I think I am…although I haven’t a damn clue where my wits have gone. They seem to be missing. I also might have shat myself, not sure just yet. I do apologize in advance, for soiling your shoulder, if that’s indeed the case,” the green girl replied in a small, shaken voice.

Sarah could only nod, pixie poop the least of her concerns at the moment. They were all safe…nothing else mattered. Relief so intense and heady, it all but liquefied her bones, crashed over her; making her as limp as a ragdoll. For the moment, all other concerns were irrelevant, as Sarah simply surrendered to impulse and let herself sink down to lie, breathless, against Jareth’s chest. 

All further thought seemed to evaporate from the confines of Sarah’s skull, as she simply lay there, still straddling the guy who she had wanted to all but murder just a short time ago. Yes, she’d probably feel like that again, once her senses fully returned, she reasoned. However, for the time being, all she really wanted to do was just stay like they were for a while more; to just lie there and listen to the steady thud of Jareth’s heartbeat, assuring and strong under her ear. 

Without a word spoken between them to shatter the lulling spell of the cocooning silence, they lost themselves to the soothing heat of the fire. Sarah felt the Goblin King’s fingers wordlessly tangle in her sodden, mussed braids. His other arm pulled her even closer still, as if letting her go was the very last thing he wanted to do. The feeling was unsettlingly mutual…and no, she didn’t quite have it in her to scold herself, or dredge up her better judgment, just yet. 

Sarah felt the pixie snuggle into the crook of her neck, and for a long moment, they all simply breathed together, letting the quiet warmth of the room envelope them like a blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Another chapter down…only like a million more to go lol. Okay, just let me remind everyone, this thing between Jareth and Sarah is going to be a wild roller-coaster ride. A bit of fluff here and there does not mean everything is forgiven or that all of Jareth’s previous antics are magically erased. Things will be hot and cold for them for a while yet. They’re complicated like that ;) 
> 
> That being said, chapter thirteen is basically just going to be a big ole fluff-bomb and nope, I’m not sorry! Let a girl have her mush, will ya! lol
> 
> The angst will continue on in chapter fourteen *grumble, grumble* Hehehe ;)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me everyone. Your thoughtful comments and kind words mean the world to me and really help me to keep plugging away at this thing. <3
> 
> *throws gratuitous glitter just for shits N’ giggles*
> 
> * * *
> 
>   **~Credits and Sources~**
> 
> **Danu-** (Mentioned by the Pixie) an Irish folk Goddess, mother/Goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann (Faerie-folk).
> 
> **Spriggans-** (Mentioned by the pixie) Creatures of Cornish Faeire-lore. According to The English Dialect Dictionary (1905), spriggans were apparently related to the trolls of Scandinavia. Spriggans were depicted as grotesquely ugly, wizened old men, with large child-like heads. They were said to be found at old ruins, cairns, and barrows guarding buried treasure. Although small, they were usually considered to be the ghosts of giants, with the ability to swell to enormous size.
> 
> **Bodach-** (Also mentioned by the pixie) A trickster or bogeyman figure in Gaelic folklore and mythology. The particular bodach mentioned in this chapter was based off an illustration of a bodach in the book _Good Faeries/Bad Faeries_ by Brian Froud. This illustration can be found in the _Bad Faeries_ section of the book and is depicted as a small, naked, winged man…with a seriously creepy look on his face! When I first read the book as a teenager (way back in the Ye Olde 90’s), I got unbelievably creeped-out by that illustration. So it only seemed fitting that the pixie described the bodach powder-dealer as a huge creeper/perv. 
> 
> I’m just going to assume everyone knows what harpies and orcs are, because I’m feeling lazy/tired tonight and they’re pretty basic mythical creatures. If you don’t know about them, then feel free to ask in the comments :)


	13. Of Fae First-Aid and Unlikely Hairdressers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finds that being held by the Goblin King isn’t all that unpleasant and gets to see his strange healing ability in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the delay. Life has been busy and I had the rotten luck of getting the flu last week so that further slowed things up a bit, but better late than never :)
> 
> This chap isn’t nearly as action-packed as the last one, just FYI. This one is pretty much just a mellow fluff-bomb, but of course there’s a teensy bit of will-clashing…it is Sarah and Jareth after all ;)
> 
> Enjoy! *throws yay-for-fluff glitter*

* * *

_I do not keep the dreams I catch. I only hold them for a time, marveling at the magic they contain, and then I let them go, combing them out of my hair with the dreaming comb and letting them blow away on the wind._  


_-Brian and Wendy Froud (Faeries’ Tales p. 58)_

* * *

How long had they been lying there in silence? Seconds? Moments? Hours? It kinda felt like all of those at once. Sarah was pretty sure the pixie had dozed off on her. That was, if the tiny, puffing snorts that sounded a whole lot like snoring, which were currently coming from the crook of her neck, were any indication.

Jareth, though…Jareth was awake. That fact was kind of hard to miss, with the way his hands kept traveling up and down her back in a slow, rhythmic pattern; starting between her shoulder blades and ending just before the curve of her butt. 

The repeated action made Sarah shiver…and not from cold. She knew she should get up. She should put as much distance between them as possible, but lord help her, at the moment, she didn’t really want to. Despite all the horrendous crap that had happened that night (a lot of it being the Goblin King’s damn fault), she was just enjoying being held. What was more, she kind of **needed** it right then. 

Sarah couldn’t rightly recall ever being held the way Jareth was holding her, her experience with the male sex being pretty limited. Even embraces from her parents, and other family members, had always been relatively brief; hurried, polite, and only done because they were expected. Her family wasn’t what anyone would call an overly affectionate bunch.

No one in Sarah’s family (on either side) could rightly be labeled a _cuddler_. Heck, she couldn’t even remember being snuggled when she was little. She hadn’t ever really minded. You couldn’t miss what you’d never known.

However, Sarah had to admit (although grudgingly), there was something to be said for this…for feeling safe, for feeling cherished. She was just trying her damnedest not to dwell overly long on the fact that it was the freaking **Goblin King** making her feel that way!

The whole crazy night had been one giant anxiety attack after another. For the moment, Sarah was **so** done with worrying about things. She’d worry about things tomorrow. What else was she going to do? She was stuck as Jareth’s house guest for the next two weeks. 

Tomorrow she’d puzzle over the million and one crazy, confusing pieces of the night before and then demand the Goblin King give her answers to the boat-load of questions wriggling anxiously around in her brain. That would be tomorrow though…tonight…tonight she was just going to simply _be_. 

She was going to just lie there for a little longer and enjoy the fact that they were alive, that they’d made it. After all, that seemed to be Jareth’s plan, but then again, who knew what was going on in his twisted, crazy-haired head.

He seemed oddly at peace though…or maybe he was just shell-shocked. Come to think of it, Sarah realized that this was the quietest he’d ever been around her; no imperious attitude; no barbing remarks; no outrageous demands; just his long, slender fingers continuing their sinuous path up and down the expanse of her spine.

Jareth didn’t even seem to mind that her clothing was still damp, or that a faint odor was wafting from the front of her cloak, which kind of smelled like spoiled dairy. It was probably the harpy milk that had leaked on her, Sarah realized, her lip curling in disgust at the disquieting memory. 

No, Jareth didn’t seem to mind much of anything at the moment. Which was somewhat odd really, because usually, he was positively brimming with snarky comments, snide slights, and about a million and one little plays for control. The Goblin King, quiet for so long...the Goblin King not trying to put her in _her place_ and insist he knew what was best for her…wow, it was a novelty, to say the least! 

Unable to help herself, Sarah turned her head upward. She glanced at Jareth from under the cover of her lashes; her cheek still pillowed on the oddly comforting solidity of his chest. His mismatched gaze was cast towards the twinkling starry mural of the ceiling, unfocused and a million miles away.

“You…ummm…oaky?” Sarah ventured hesitantly; her cheeks pinking at how awkward it was, getting that question past her lips. 

It felt beyond weird, asking Jareth that; talking to him like they’d always been this way; like he’d always just told her what was on his mind. If anything, she **should** be asking him what the hell he’d been thinking, putting her in that oubliette; forcing her to make her way through a gaggle of monsters; almost getting her killed like half a dozen different times! 

She **should** just slap him again and declare him an ass of epic proportions and demand he get the heck out of her room…but she didn’t. For some utterly insane reason, she just **couldn’t** ; not right then. 

Sarah had spent the majority of the night believing that the Goblin King might have died, a prospect that would probably have any normal girl in her same position, doing a freaking happy-dance of joy. 

She, on the other hand, being the Stockholm’s-having weirdo that she apparently was, had felt like something vital had been torn right out of her. Now she had this inexplicable urge just to be close to him, as _coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs_ as it was.

Ugh…in the morning she so needed to get her head on straight!

“I should probably be the one to ask you that question,” Jareth murmured, breaking the silence, at last, his hands stilling on her back.

Why the hell did she feel like groaning at the loss of his touch?

“I’m fine…” Sarah began, but the second the words left her mouth she realized just how untrue they were.

As if the scab of her shock had suddenly been picked clean off, she began to fully register the burning ache in both her forearms; the pounding stress headache pulsating its throbbing agony behind her eyes and at the base of her skull; not to mention, the gnawing, vicious emptiness of her stomach. God, when was the last time she’d eaten? That afternoon? And it had only been a roll and a single ginger snap at that. 

Questing, gloveless fingers suddenly ran up her left arm, sending an odd jolt of tingling heat and sharp, cutting pain crashing through her nerve endings, when said fingers grazed her harpy-inflicted puncture wounds. The Goblin King immediately tensed beneath her, an outraged hiss issuing from his lips.

With that, Sarah felt herself being shifted abruptly upward; her right hand instinctively flying up to cradle the slumbering pixie so that the little green girl wouldn’t take a nasty tumble to the hard floor. 

“Gods, woman! You certainly are **not** fine, by any stretch of the imagination! Why did you not say anything?! You’re wounded!” Jareth growled, coming to a seated position and consequently forcing her into one as well, being as that she was lying on him, straddling his waist, sitting right on his crazy-toned (leather-incased) thighs.

“You’re both too damn noisy. Especially you, king-man,” the pixie grumbled drowsily, stirring in Sarah’s hand.

Before Sarah could so much as begin to utter an apology, the tiny green girl flitted from her grasp. In the blink of an eye, the pixie was across the room, making herself at home on one of the pillows piled around the magic harp; snuggling into its silken surface and promptly drifting right back to sleep.

The Goblin King spared the pixie only the briefest of sideways glances, before gripping Sarah by the hand. He then pulled her blood-streaked arm outward, to allow himself to survey the damage the harpy had rendered thoroughly. Sarah watched him, in a wary sort of fascination, as several different emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession. 

Anger…concern…indignation…and was that, flickering right there, in the back of his eyes, like a guttering flame…yes, she did, in fact, detect a smidge of shame. 

_Good. You should be ashamed! This was all your stupid fault!_

Sarah thought, yet found herself unable to work the barbing words past her lips.

Fighting wasn’t going to solve a damn thing at the moment. What she needed to do was get the heck up off Jareth’s impossibly firm thighs (because just sitting there was doing crazy things to her heart rate). Seriously, she could probably bounce quarters off the damn things; they were so fit! It felt like sitting on corded steel! It was ridiculous! 

Yup, she’d been sitting there too long. She needed to detach herself from His Royal-Jerkness, show him the door, clean up her arms, and try to find out what had become of her suitcase, or more importantly, the bottle of Tylenol she had stashed in said suitcase.

Yup. She was going to get up…any second now.

“Here. Allow me to help you,” the Goblin King mumbled, in a strange, choked tone Sarah had never heard from him before.

A snippy retort of _“I can take care of myself. Where’s the bathroom?”_ was right on the tip of Sarah’s tongue. Before she could so much as part her lips to issue forth said snippy retort, Jareth was gently settling his bare palm over the three puncture marks on her outer arm.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Sarah started to protest.

Touching on open wounds was just begging for an infection! Maybe Jareth had hit his head when he’d fallen. Maybe that dark orb had liquefied his brain. He **was** acting pretty weird.

“I don’t think-” she began, but was cut off by a freaky flaring of tingling heat simmering right where his hand pressed against her wounds.

_What in the world?!_

Her whole arm tingled with a strange ripple of warmth. It raced through the entirety of her limb, from the tips of her fingers to the top her shoulder and it all seemed to stem right from where Jareth’s palm met her broken skin. It was bit unnerving, but not unpleasant. 

It wasn’t unpleasant at all, actually, if Sarah were totally honest with herself. In fact, she found herself clenching her jaw to keep the breathy sigh of contentment, which inexplicably seemed to be building in the back of her throat, from escaping her lips. 

It felt like floating in a warm pool…bathed in the glow of a million burning candles.

“Wh-what the hell?” Sarah gasped, feeling a tendril of heat begin to curl low in her abdomen, which wasn’t entirely due to the weird energy flaring through her arm, but also her traitorous body’s reaction to Jareth’s close proximity.

“So you feel it?” the Goblin King’s inquiry came in a strained whisper, “Does it feel like it did when we made our pact? Or is it different to you now?”

Sarah could only nod helplessly at first; her gaze pinned to where he touched her.

“It’s different…but also the same. If that makes any sense,” she finally replied in a threadbare whisper. 

“Interesting,” Jareth’s tone was thick, laden with an emotion Sarah’s spinning mind couldn’t rightly put a name to.

“What is-” Sarah began to ask, but the question instantly withered on her tongue when Jareth abruptly removed his hand from her forearm.

Her widened, disbelieving eyes took in the healthy, utterly unmarked skin, peaking from beneath the smears of now dried blood.

“You…you healed me,” Sarah marveled, then recalled how her knuckles had been magically mended, along with her lip, when she’d woken up in the white-curtained room earlier. 

“Oh yeah, you can do that. I almost forgot,” she breathed shakily, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile, “cool trick.”

“Indeed,” the Goblin King gave a stiff nod, something undiscernible flickering in his dual-colored gaze.

“Sarah…” Jareth began, seemingly hesitant, “May I try something? With the puncture on the underside of your arm?”

The Goblin King then gently turned her arm, so that the lone, angry wound was fully visible. It had been left by the harpy’s lower talon, the one Sarah had always thought of as the _thumb_ on a bird. If that particular claw had an actual name, she didn’t know it. She was nowhere near as knowledgeable on the subject of avian anatomy as Ms. Crask, with all her bird-club wisdom.

Sarah nodded, knowing she should probably question what the _something_ was first, primarily since it was the freaking **Goblin King** asking. However, this unusually polite side of Jareth had her at a loss. The sudden, and uncharacteristic, courtesy made her want to go along with things, mostly because his atypical behavior had her damn curious, in spite of herself. 

_If this is the work of that weird black crystal, then I need to find a million more of those things and just keep lobbing them at him!_

With that thought running through her head, Sarah watched in complete bewilderment as Jareth lowered his mouth to her wound.

“What the heck, Goblin King?! What the freak are-” she began, ready to snatch her arm back, but a wave of that same weird energy suddenly barreled straight through her, when Jareth’s lips met her broken skin.

This time it was far more intense. It stole the breath right from Sarah's lungs and made her head bow back, as her entire body was engulfed in a mind-melding sensation that could only be described as a mix of light-headed rapture and gut-wrenching agony.

 _Holy-moly! What the hell is happening?!_

Before Sarah could open her mouth to demand answers, she felt the hot flick of Jareth’s tongue against the broken flesh of her puncture wound.

_Is he really licking my puncture mark???? What in the fuck does he think he’s doing?!!_

Sarah’s immediate reflex was to shove the Goblin King away, but before she could even begin to act on said impulse, her vision hazed with a strange gold light. When the haze cleared, but a second later, Sarah saw herself, in vivid detail; as if she were watching a movie where she was playing the starring role.

_What in the world…_

* * *

_She was older, probably in her early thirties, from the look of it. She was dressed in a long gown of silver velveteen that looked like it was straight out of a renaissance princess fantasy, her hair done up in an intricate whirl of delicate braids and curls. Wow, she looked fancy! Almost queen-like…_

_However, she didn’t appear to be acting very queen-like. Her elder-self was unceremoniously crouched at the edge of a massive in-floor grey stone tub. She was practically lying on the floor, the front of her fancy gown looking nearly soaked through._

_Sarah wondered if the stone monstrosity could even be called a tub. It looked more like a small indoor pool. She figured it had to be, at least, the size of the doughboy pool her father had set up in the backyard at home, maybe bigger._

_It even boasted a life-sized, and beautifully detailed, mermaid statue, seated on its wide back edge. The mermaid looked to be leisurely dipping her stone tail in the warm bath water, adding a whimsical touch to the fixture that Sarah had to admit, she absolutely loved._

_Taking her eyes from the lovely sculpture, Sarah watched her older self in paralyzed awe. Older-Sarah was bathing a squirming toddler boy, who had dark hair and familiar mismatched eyes. A little girl, about six or seven, was trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to help her, as the toddler thoroughly splashed them both while giggling like a small, chubby-cheeked maniac._

_“Celom! Stop splashing mummy! You’re getting her pretty dress all wet! She and Daddy have to have dinner with the snooty elves tonight!” the little girl chided the splashing boy, in a familiar British-like drawl._

_The boy giggled harder and tried to make a grab for the ruffled cuff of the girl’s cream-colored nightgown, probably intending to pull her in._

_Sarah noticed that the girl’s speech pattern wasn’t the only thing about her that was eerily familiar. She also had a wild shock of golden hair that was **so** very Jareth._

_“Eloiny honey, let’s not call our guests snooty. It’s not polite,” Sarah watched her elder-self admonish the girl, while struggling to scrub the wriggling toddler’s face and shoulders with a thoroughly sudsed-up washcloth._

_“Daddy calls them snooty all the time,” Eloiny insisted, “He says they have poles shoved so far up their bums that you can see the gleam of brass at the back of their throats when they speak. I keep looking, but I never see it.”_

_“Bums! Bums! Buuuuuuuuuuuums!” little Celom suddenly shouted._

_“Looks like I need to have a talk with your dad about watching what he says in front of the two of you,” older-Sarah sighed._

_“Buuuuuums!” Celom shouted again, thoroughly splashing both older-Sarah and the girl called Eloiny._

_“I knew I shouldn’t have attempted to do this when I already dressed for dinner,” older-Sarah gave a heavy sigh of resignation when sodden bits of her previously immaculate hairdo began to fall in her eyes, “Oh well, I’ll just fix it all afterward.”_

_“That’s it, ya little monster. I’m coming in, and we’re getting this over with,” Sarah’s adult-self grumbled as she set sudsy washcloth on the edge of the tub._

_Sarah watched in disbelief as the older version of herself flicked her fingers, and the beautiful velveteen dress vanished, a simple black one-piece bathing suit suddenly in its place._

_Still keeping one hand locked on the squirming little boy, her adult-self scooted over the side of the tub and into the steamy, lilac-scented bathwater._

_“Yay! Mummy bath too!” Celom cheered and resumed his splashing._

_Older-Sarah clamped an arm around his waist, retrieved the washcloth from the tub’s edge, and proceeded to finish scrubbing the hyper little boy._

_“That’s the last time I let Hoggle give you candy before bedtime,” adult-Sarah muttered._

_“No fair! I want to swim in the tub with you too, Mummy!” Eloiny pouted, pulled her nightdress over her head, and jumped into the bath before Sarah’s older-self could say a word of protest._

_“Yay! Ellie bath!” Celom crowed, splashing with renewed vigor._

_“Eloiny, sweet pea, you already had your bath,” older-Sarah told the girl, trying in vain to pin Celom’s flailing arms at his sides._

_“But I can’t let Celom have **all** the fun! It’s not fair,” Eloiny protested in a tone that was all too familiar._

_“Fine,” older-Sarah conceded with a sigh, “But we’re staying in only long enough for me to wash your brother’s hair, then we’re getting out, and you two are off to bed. Then I have to make an appearance at dinner, so the snooty elves don’t feel slighted and go back on their trade agreement. Lord knows what your dad is saying to them right now. We’ll all be lucky if a war doesn’t break out by the dessert course.”_

_“Mummy! I thought you said not to call them snooty!” Eloiny gasped._

_“Eh, what can I say? When your dad’s right, he’s right. At least on **some** things anyway,” older-Sarah grinned._

_“Splash!!!” Celom suddenly shrieked, as he slipped his mother’s grasp._

_The small, exuberant battle cry was quickly followed by all four of the toddler’s tiny limbs unleashing absolute water-drenched fury._

_“That’s it, Celom Robert! You asked for it!” older-Sarah laughed, as she began to launch her own splash-attack on the little boy, who practically howled with delight at his mother stooping to his level._

_“I want to play too!” Eloiny giggled._

_The girl then took turns splashing her mother and baby brother, until all three of them were breathless with laughter and every nearby surface of the spacious bathroom was thoroughly drenched._

* * *

Sarah’s eyes flew open, her breath coming in a rushing gasp. She blinked around at the blessedly familiar surroundings of her fancy bedroom, feeling as if she had just awoken from a vivid dream. It hadn’t been a dream though, somehow she was sure of it. She’d actually smelled the lilac scented soap, had felt the muggy damp of steam filling the room.

_What just happened?!_

“Did you see them as well?” came Jareth’s pensive inquiry, nearly startling Sarah right out of her skin.

“See…them?” she blinked a few times more, trying in vain to focus her mind and streamline her thoughts.

Too many questions whirled through her head, screaming for answers all at once.

“Our children. Eloiny and Celom. You saw them, just now?” Jareth pressed, something unnamable glinting in his dual gaze.

_Our children? Our children! Jesus Christ…_

Sarah had known, deep down, who the boy and girl were the second she’d laid eyes on them. They’d called her elder-self _“Mummy”_ in adorable British-esque accents for crying out loud! The girl had Jareth’s wild mop of hair and **her** green eyes. 

The boy had her dark hair and Jareth’s otherworldly gaze. Who else could they have been?! However, hearing Jareth say _“our children”_ somehow made it all that more real; the truth of it hit her like a truck-load of bricks.

She’d seen herself do magic...she’d been worried about some sort of political dinner…she and Jareth had **kids** …

 _Holy shit! Does that mean all of this, going through this stupid bargain, is it all for nothing? Do I just end up Jareth’s queen regardless?! Did I actually just see my future?_

“I’ll take your flummoxed open-mouthed stare as a yes, you did see them,” Jareth murmured, almost gently.

“What…what the hell was that? You saw it too?” Sarah let out a shaky breath.

“Yes,” the Goblin King nodded. “In regards to what it was, I’m not precisely certain of the details, but I do believe it is a glimpse of our future. A possible future anyway.” 

Sarah’s mind reeled with that bit of information. A possible future? Only a possibility? It wasn’t written in stone? Why did that both relieve and bitterly disappoint her at the same time? 

Oh god, she had a million and one questions about what he’d just told her; what he’d done to her arm. Not to mention, about a billion more questions about what had happened in the woods! Oh lord, her head was going to freaking explode!

Nope, she wasn’t going to deal with it right then; she reminded herself. Again, the questions could wait. What she needed was a good night’s sleep, but first maybe some food…and the bathroom. Definitely, the bathroom. In fact, using the facilities was bumped to the top of the list, Sarah quickly decided; becoming uncomfortably aware of the persistent ache of her full bladder. 

“I, umm…need to use _the little girl’s room_ ,” Sarah mumbled and began to shift herself from Jareth’s lap.

“Wait, just a moment, love. Your other arm needs mending,” Jareth insisted, that same look of suppressed guilt flickering in his gaze. 

It was on the tip of Sarah’s tongue, to tell the Goblin King to _shove it_ , that she could take care of herself. Besides, she really couldn’t take any more big surprises just then. Another freaky _possible future_ glimpse and she reasoned that she might very well be reduced to curling herself into a ball and crying herself to sleep.

At this point, Sarah was skirting the ragged fringe of a total emotional meltdown, and she’d be damned if she gave the Jareth the satisfaction of seeing her crumble…even if he did keep looking at her with those disquieting glances of regret. 

He **should** be regretful. The fact that the Goblin King was finally feeling the tiniest hint of remorse for being a giant asshat changed nothing, Sarah reminded herself. In fact, she fully intended to tell him as much, roll off him, and march straight to the bathroom (wherever that was). 

However, Jareth’s palm was covering the puncture marks on her right arm; that weird, peaceful warmth was flowing through her like a rippling tide lapping at the sun-drenched shore before she could so much as blink.

“I…” Sarah began to protest but quickly realized that there was no real point in objecting.

She needed to be healed, and Jareth was healing her. What good would it do her to get an infected arm? Sarah only wished the process didn’t feel quite so…blissful. She tried in vain to bite back a breathy sigh, as her body involuntarily melted into to Jareth’s. Her head came to rest in the crook of his shoulder, his free arm wrapping around her waist.

There were no visions of the future, possible or otherwise. This time there was nothing, except the lulling ripple of energy passing between them like a whispered promise.

“All done, precious,” the Goblin king murmured in her ear. 

Was he finished already? That had been awfully quick, Sarah thought to herself, with a secretive little smidge of disappointment, as she looked down at the freshly healed, and perfectly unmarred, skin of her right arm. 

**No** , she **hadn’t** enjoyed that! Also, Jareth whispering in her ear **didn’t** make her stomach do a series of weird fluttering flips as if a swarm of unruly butterflies had inexplicably taken up residence within her gut. It did **not**!

Oh boy, that was her cue. 

_Bathroom! Now! Get it together Williams!_

“I…ummm…need to pee…” She mumbled without thinking and gracelessly rolled off His Royal Pompousness with an awkward plop.

_Dammit Williams! You did not just tell the Goblin King you had to pee! Oh-my-god!_

“Very well, the washroom is just over there. The door on the left,” Jareth gestured to the ornate doors across the room, near her bed.

They were the same doors Sarah had been too overwhelmed to explore earlier and had instead taken a nap.

“You might want to adjust your cloak first darling,” Jareth drawled, a bemused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sarah followed his gaze down to her lower half and just about died of humiliation; her face instantly flaming a deep molten red. In her attempt to hurry off His Royal Jerkface’s royal lap, her cloak had ridden up past her hips, affording Jareth a clear view of her cotton panties.

“Jesus Christ!” Sarah hissed, scrambling to her feet and tugging at the hem of her cloak so hard, it was a wonder she didn’t rip right through the time-ravaged fabric.

_Great, I just flashed the freaking king of the goblins! Just awesome!_

“Good night, Goblin King. I’m sure you can see yourself out,” Sarah ground the words out through her tightly clenched teeth, suspecting she hadn't been heard over the rumbling boom of Jareth’s laughter.

 _Bastard._

Sarah all but sprinted through the door Jareth had motioned to, slamming it behind her with a satisfying _thud_. As soon the ornate sconces on the bathroom wall flared to life, providing her a well-lit view of her surroundings, she found her previous embarrassment and irritation quickly receding to make way for open-mouthed shock.

She was standing in **the** bathroom, the one from that weird glimpse of her supposed future! Her wide, disbelieving gaze took in the vast, empty stone tub, the perching mermaid statue looking almost smug, with a coy little half smile pulling at one corner of her stone mouth.

“What are you looking at?” Sarah grumbled, turning her back to the statue, trying in vain to will away the conflicting clash of longing and dread the fixture stirred within her.

Nope, she wasn’t going to think about any of that tonight, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time, as she located an ultra-swanky white marble toilet on the other side of the room. Apparently, the Goblin Castle had indoor plumbing, which was a relief. 

For a moment there, Sarah had been worried she’d have to use a chamber pot, squat over a hole in the floor, or some other such archaic form of relieving herself. So the marble toilet, although ridiculous, was a **very** welcome sight. 

As she went about doing her _business_ , Sarah’s eyes traveled upward and locked on a startlingly beautiful, moving ceiling mural of sea creatures swimming in a gently flowing current. 

Brightly colored fish, sleek dolphins, and luminous jellyfish floated in and out of  
swaying kelp fronds and bright pink coral formations. These rooms and their murals! Apparently, even the bathroom had been no acceptation to the enchanted extravagance. 

_Holy-moly! It looks so real!_

After she finished answering the persistent call of nature, Sarah made sure her cloak was thoroughly covering her underwear and stepped up to wash her hands in the gleaming marble sink, resting atop an expansive grey stone countertop. 

As she cleaned her hands and blood-crusted forearms with the seashell-shaped, rose-scented soap (found resting beside the marble basin), Sarah couldn’t help but wince at her reflection staring pitifully out at her from the gilded frame of the over-sink mirror. To say she looked totally trashed would be putting it mildly.

Her braids were hopelessly matted, most of them a half unraveled, knotted disaster. Her once fresh, and perfectly placed crown of peach blossoms hung woefully lopsided on her tangled head. The delicately woven branches were almost completely barren, the few remaining blooms wilted and torn. 

Her face looked Casper-pale and her skin almost sallow. The immaculate coal-black eyeliner that had artfully rimmed her eyes at the ball was laughably smeared, making her look more drunken raccoon than a girl.

_Yikes! Well, I suppose this is what someone looks like when they’ve been running for their life most of the night._

With a resigned sigh, Sarah somehow managed to disentangle her sorry excuse of a crown, with only a few strangled yelps of pain uttered in the process. The ridiculous thing snagged on the snarled remains of her braids about a half-dozen times, before she finally succeeded in snatching the hated adornment from her head and throwing it clear across the room with an indignant huff.

The braids, however, they were a complete wreck and would doubtlessly take hours, if not an entire day, to detangle. It would be a miracle if she came away from the knotted disaster without having to cut her hair short, because some of those damn snarls looked horrifyingly hopeless. 

_Tomorrow…I’ll just add my hair to the mile-long list of things to deal with tomorrow._

Sarah told herself with yet another sigh, as she took a moment to wash her face with a bit of the rose-scented soap. 

She rinsed the perfumed suds away with icy cold water from the sink, then unceremoniously wiped as much of her smeared eye-makeup as she could manage, with a nearby hand towel. 

What she really needed to focus on at the moment, Sarah decided, was getting out of her half damp, rib-crushing corset and smelly cloak. Her clammy skin was horribly chaffed, and she felt about a million different kinds of disgusting. 

She needed to locate her suitcase, so she could change into her PJs, maybe grab a bite to eat from the mini buffet in the sitting room, then go the hell to sleep, because **damn** had it been the longest night ever.

On her way out of the bathroom, Sarah cast a wistful glance at the mermaid tub. A hot bath would be nothing short of heaven. However, she was just too damn tired and too damn hungry to expend the effort. Besides, the laughter and excited shouts of the children in that freaky shared vision, or whatever the heck it had been, still echoed in her head. 

_“Yay! Mummy bath too!”_

_“I want to swim in the tub with you too, Mummy!”_

Those bits of recollection, murmuring in her head like ghosts in an empty corridor, twisted her heart in unimaginable knots.

_Get it together Williams. Suitcase. Food. Sleep. That’s all you’re going to focus on right now._

When Sarah exited the bathroom, her gaze immediately zeroed in on Jareth. He stood before the fireplace, arms clasped behind his back, his attention riveted on the crackling dance of the flames within the grate. Not only had he not shown himself out, as she had previously suggested, but he’d even had the audacity to make himself more comfortable. 

_Of course he did!_

The Goblin King was no longer dressed in his favored black leather armor and flowing cape. Instead, he wore grey knee-length breeches (as skin-tight as ever), and an untucked, billowy ivory poet’s shirt. The laces of the shirt hung open, showing off a generous swath of Jareth’s bare chest; his amulet winking in the dim firelight, resting just so against his pale skin. 

He wore no boots, or shoes of any kind for that matter; Sarah noted, watching him bounce lightly on the heels of his bare, slender feet. It felt weird, almost intimate, seeing him dressed down like that. 

When the soft thud of Sarah’s borrowed goblin boots alerted Jareth to her presence (as she hesitantly crossed the room), he slowly turned and faced her head-on. 

Damn. It wasn’t fair that he was so goddamn gorgeous. The jerk! The firelight made coppery red highlights dance in the flaxen strands his long hair and those damn disarming eyes of his glinted in the low lighting, with _that_ look shining in their dual-colored depths. 

It was the same look he’d given her that first time they’d danced together, in the bubble world; the same look that had burned in Jareth’s gaze when he had enveloped her in his arms in the woods after he’d saved her from those freaky little goblins with the weaponized bags…and she had just **let** him. 

No, worse yet, she’d gone to him willingly, eagerly even. She’d stood in the circle of the Goblin King’s arms, like a love-struck idiot, her heart in her throat and her pulse pounding a deafening rhythm of anticipation. At that moment back in the woods, Sarah’s brush with death had inspired her better judgment to promptly fly the coop. Like a freaking moron, she’d actually stood there, wordlessly willing her damn nemesis to kiss her senseless!

That look did _things_ to her, and the royal jerkwad totally knew it! There he was yet again, giving her that brain-melting smolder. What was he hoping to accomplish? Was he hoping she’d just fall into his arms and bat her damn lashes? 

_Probably. It’s not like it hasn’t worked for him before, stupid…multiple times._

Well, she wasn’t going to let it happen again. Jareth had some nerve, not leaving when he was asked, after everything he had put her through! She opened her mouth to tartly ask him if she had stuttered the first time she’d asked him to clear out. Unfortunately, her stomach chose that exact moment let out a somewhat noisy declaration of emptiness.

Sarah felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her eyes darting to her scuffed, ill-fitting boots, unable to meet the Goblin King’s penetrating stare. Her brain momentarily failed to supply her with something sufficiently witty and scathing to say to His Royal Pompousness. If she could go just ten damn minutes without embarrassing herself, Sarah figured it would be a freaking miracle.

“Well, it appears I’ve been a poor host on more than one account,” Jareth remarked dryly.

He’d get no argument from here there, Sarah thought with a wry twist of her lips.

“Come along then,” the Goblin King was suddenly pulling her to him.

Before Sarah could so much as utter a single syllable of protest, the now familiar feeling of the world shifting around them, stole the objecting words right from her mouth. Within a blink, they were standing in her sitting room, before the coffee table, still laden with all sorts of mouth-watering goodies. 

“Now, first things first. Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, but you smell like a rotting wedge of Goblin Cheese,” Jareth informed her, his upper lip giving a slight curl of distaste.

“That would probably be due to the gross harpy who leaked her breast milk all over my cloak. You know, when I had to run for my life after you stuck me in an oubliette?” she snapped, her cheeks flaming anew.

So much for him not noticing her disheveled and pungent state.

Jareth only nodded, as if making a mental note of the weather or some other such non-issue, rather than her commenting on how he had, once again, endangered her life. The jerk!

“Look, I’m sure it’s late. So if you could just le-” Sarah began but was cut-off before she could get the Goblin King’s dismissal entirely past her lips.

“Here. Allow me,” Jareth interjected as if she hadn’t just tried to get rid of him, and began to run his hands in a lingering trail down her sides.

Just as she was about to ask him what the heck he thought he was doing, Sarah felt the tale-tell ripple of heat that usually signified something of the magical, otherworldly sort was happening. 

Her gaze flew to where Jareth’s palms brushed against her and all further thoughts of telling him to take a hike abruptly vanished at the mind-bending sight of her tattered cloak and constraining corset morphing into a pair of silken midnight blue pajamas.

“There. I trust you’ll find that a great deal more comfortable,” Jareth nodded down at her newly transformed clothing, a hint of a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I…umm…yeah,” was all Sarah could manage for the moment, inwardly relishing the fact that she could now breathe freely, without the damn corset pulverizing her ribs.

Truth be told, the warm, buttery soft silk felt like absolute heaven against her skin, after what felt like hours of bitter cold and discomfort. However, Sarah wasn’t about to admit that to His Royal Douchness. Nope, comfy sleepwear did **not** automatically mean she’d erase his name from her mental shit list, even if her poor, tired body now felt like it was encased in a silky cloud of awesome.

“And if you’ll notice, I did away with those bloody repulsive boots as well,” the Goblin King shot her another pleased grin, motioning down to her feet.

Oh god yes! It took every grain of willpower Sarah had, not to moan aloud at the delicious feeling of circulation returning to her toes. She flexed her still sore feet, secretly relishing in the feel of the cushy satin-lined slippers that now covered them, in the place of horrid, too-small, twin torture chambers that had dared to call themselves boots. 

Sarah only gave a clipped nod in response, not wanting Jareth to mistake any praise as a dismissal of his earlier actions. She was just about to point out the convenient location the burnished copper door when the Goblin King abruptly turned on his heel and plucked up the lone china saucer from the end table (on which the tea service still rested).

“Sit,” Jareth instructed, nodding towards the sofa and neighboring settee, “allow me to fetch you some sustenance.”

“I can get my own food, thanks,” Sarah retorted.

However, just as those words left her tongue, she found the temptation of the nearby settee far too great; her weary legs moving her towards its promising softness, as if of their own volition.

Much to Sarah’s chagrin, she wasn’t entirely successful at stifling the groan of relief that spilled past her lips as she eased her aching body onto the plush gold embroidered fabric. Lord, the ridiculously fancy thing felt as if it were stuffed with fluffy clouds from the heavens! 

Wasn’t it some unspoken rule that fancy furniture had to be uncomfortable? How could the damn settee look like it had come straight from a museum **and** feel this freaking comfy?

Sarah heard a low, amused chuckle from Jareth, as she eased back into the settee’s pillowy softness; propping her slippered feet on the puffy blue ottoman with a barely checked sigh of contentment. 

“You know, you **could** go. I’m just fine now,” she muttered leaning her head back into embroidered cushions.

“I **could** do a great many things, yet I choose to remain with my guest and make absolutely certain she is well accommodated. What am I, if not a gracious host?” Jareth quipped as he piled the saucer he held with various treats from the coffee table spread.

“Pfffft!” Sarah snorted, “You’re a regular comedian, Goblin King. I can think of quite a few things I could call you and trust me; a gracious _anything_ isn’t among them. Didn't you just say, a few moments ago, that you suck at the host stuff?”

“Oh come now, precious. You wound me. Here I am, ever your willing slave and you callously mock my efforts. How very cruel you are,” Jareth replied with a mock-offended pout, the sly grin tugging at one side of his mouth ruining the shoddily constructed charade of hurt feelings.

“Pfffft!” Sarah snorted again with a prolonged roll of her eyes, “Oh please! Let’s not get into who the cruel one actually is here. I’m too exhausted to go another round in the metaphorical ring with you tonight.”

“Agreed. Bickering is ever so tedious. Why waste valuable time and energy when it will probably take all sodding night to work those ghastly tangles from your hair?” Jareth breezily informed her, plopping the now treat-laden saucer in her lap, “Here you are. Eat. I’ll try and do something about that horrid mess atop your head.” 

For a long moment there, all Sarah could manage to do was blink up at him, stunned. Did the freaking king of the goblins actually just volunteer to fix her hair? Good lord, it had been a long, weird night! 

“Come then, move over,” Jareth motioned to the small space beside her on the settee, before flicking his wrists to conjure a silver comb and brush set, which he clutched tightly in hand as if readying weapons for battle.

Apparently, the weirdness was going to keep right on rolling.

“Wait, you're serious right now?” Sarah gaped up at him, utterly incredulous. 

Of all the things she could imagine the Goblin King doing, playing hair stylist wasn’t one of them.

“As serious as an unclothed goblin traversing a nest of biting bog flies,” Jareth monotoned, “Now move over.”

“I…ummm…okay…” Sarah mumbled, clutching her saucer of sweets as she reluctantly moved all the way to one side of the settee; far too taken aback to argue.

“Go on then, eat,” Jareth urged, as he settled next to her.

He then shoved the satin ottoman back over to her with his foot, so she could once again prop her sore feet up on its overstuffed softness. Sarah shot the Goblin King another wide-eyed stare of disbelief, before hesitantly settling back against settee, forcing herself to resist the urge to ask where the real Jareth was and what the imposter sitting next to her had done with him. 

“Now turn a little and lean against me,” Jareth instructed.

With a wary glance from over her shoulder, Sarah hesitated for half a beat then silently decided she might as well go with it, and did as he asked. The whole night had been a ridiculous, scary mess; why draw the line at hair combing? 

Besides, as silly as it was, if Jareth spared her from going to bed with a head full of matted braids (which were sure to get worse while she slept), she supposed she should see his strange offer as an unexpected bonus. 

Sarah tried her best to ignore Jareth’s alluring, woodsy scent as she rested her back against his chest. The warmth of the Goblin King’s body quickly seeped through the dividing layers of their clothing and instantly coaxed her stomach to tie itself into anxious knots.

“Eat,” he insisted once again, and Sarah hesitantly brought a pastel pink macaroon to her lips. 

She tentatively chewed the delicate confection, its sugary sweet strawberry taste all but lost on her. Every cell in her body crackled with hyper-awareness, as she felt the cold metal of the comb brush against her scalp. 

Sarah braced herself for a series of sharp, painful tugs as Jareth worked the comb through her knotted braids. Instead, to her surprise, she merely felt a pleasant tingling warmth spread over her scalp and radiate through her follicles, as Jareth effortlessly ran the comb through her snarled tresses. 

Her matted braids felt as if they were unweaving themselves at just the mere touch of the grooming implement, the comb moving as fluidly as a hot knife through butter. Well, she should have expected that the Goblin King would employ his magic to the task.

Not that Sarah minded. On the contrary, the magic-fueled grooming felt pretty incredible. She even had to keep reminding herself to finish the sweets on her saucer as Jareth worked; her eyes often drifting closed in sheer contentment, her previous hunger all but forgotten. 

“There, easier than I thought. All those blasted braids are undone. Time for the brush,” Jareth murmured, and Sarah had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

Of all the things the Goblin King could say, she would have never dreamed in a thousand years that the laughably domestic comments he’d just uttered would ever leave his royal lips. It was all just so absurd! 

Sarah found herself almost wishing Hoggle could see his king like this, fussing over her hair like an overly attentive mother. Just imagining her friend’s jaw nearly hitting the floor was almost enough to send Sarah into a wheeze-inducing giggle-fit. Instead, she forcibly choked the threatening laughter down. 

A secret inner part of her loathed the thought of breaking whatever spell Jareth was under. His gentle, lulling brushstrokes felt pretty darn fantastic. Even though she kind of hated herself for enjoying it, Sarah had to admit (even if only inwardly), it was especially nice to be pampered after the hellish night she’d had. Even if Jareth had been the catalyst for said hellish night, she was just too damn tired to care at the moment.

“There we are, love. All fixed,” Jareth murmured, and Sarah felt the light press of his lips on the crown of her head.

She hummed a drowsy reply, her eyelids suddenly feeling much too heavy to stay open; her whole body practically melting into Jareth’s oddly comforting warmth. She felt the saucer of partially eaten sweets begin to slip from her lax hand and slide off her lap, but she was just too sleepy to stop its descent.

Sarah felt a slight stir of movement from Jareth. Her drooping eyelids remained partially open, just long enough to see the saucer vanish, before it could fall to the floor, shatter, and undoubtedly make a huge mess. 

Having magic seemed to come in pretty darn handy. No wonder the Goblin King always seemed so smug, she thought as she let her eyelids slide entirely shut. 

Sarah supposed if she could make anything she wanted to happen with just a flick of her fingers, she might have a severe case of swollen ego too. Not that she was excusing his asshole-ish behavior or anything. No, His Royal Jerkface was still going to get a piece of her mind…in the morning. 

At the moment, however, all she wanted to do was surrender to the insistent pull of sleep. She’d add the worry over the fact that she felt one hundred percent content and comfortable with falling asleep right in Jareth’s arms to the ever-growing list of things to address the next day. Why the hell not? 

Deep down Sarah knew she’d be straight up lying to herself if she ever tried to pretend that Jareth’s arms, which were now encircling her waist, didn’t make her feel bizarrely safe; that leaning against him the way she was, didn’t feel oddly right. 

“Shhh, sleep now, precious thing. I’ll watch over you,” Sarah heard the Goblin King whisper, as if he could somehow sense her feeble inner conflict. 

With a quiet sigh of surrender, Sarah gave herself over to the lulling call of oblivion. Jareth’s comforting cedar, rosemary scent and the assuring warmth of his body, sent her to the land of dreams with a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips, in spite of herself.

* * *

_She was having that dream again. Sarah found herself, once more, in the undefinable, darkened corridor she’d dreamt of the previous night. The mysterious overhead beam of light was illuminating her in a perfect circle; the only lit area within the inky gloom._

_Sarah blinked, and then there was the shimmering opalescent door of before; its glittering splendor instantly igniting a fierce sense of temptation within her. Her hand was automatically reaching for the crystal knob, her fingers ghosting just above the smooth glass before she caught herself and snatched her hand back, just as before._

_Again, the door flared to life, Jareth’s haunting song calling to her from behind the shinning portal._

_“Though we’re strangers ‘til now, we’re choosing the path between the stars…  
I’ll leave my love between the stars…” the Goblin King sang, his pleading tone slicing away at her will to resist._

_“No, I can’t. I want to…but I can’t,” Sarah whispered, desperately summoning her resolve._

_Just as before, she then turned away from the opalescent door; her heart hammering against her ribs, every fiber of her being crying out for her to go back. Sarah forced herself forward, despite the gnawing sense of loss that clawed at her belly as she went._

_This time the weird spotlight followed her, as she continued into the darkness, not knowing where she was going, just letting her feet heedlessly carry her onward. Suddenly there was another door in her path, this one made of rough, black wood; almost reminding Sarah of the bark of a tree. The handle was made of shining silver and made to look like a curling feather._

_Unlike the opalescent door, this door failed to fill her with a sense of longing. Instead, Sarah felt only unease prickle at the back of her neck, like a foreboding whisper against her skin. Her feet instinctively moved her away from the silent threat that seemed to taint the very air around the blackened door, and she sighed a faint breath of relief as she walked past it._

_“Wait. Do not go. We aren’t finished little one. Not even close. You need me, just as I need you, Sarah. Without my help, how will you ever be free of him? You only have to open this door, and I can help you. Just open the door,” a deep, and eerily familiar, voice rumbled from behind the sinister portal._

_Sarah stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to face the door once again. The promise of freedom gave her pause, for all but half a heartbeat, then she found herself automatically shaking her head in refusal._

_“No. I won’t,” the answer sprang off Sarah's tongue before she could so much as think it over._

_“Open the door Sarah!” the voice hissed._

_“No,” she replied, her voice firm, unyielding._

_With that, she moved on, pointedly ignoring the frantic shouts for her to return, from the rumbling voice on the other side of the black wooden door. His cries echoed in her ears long after the overhead light winked out and she was left alone in the black maw of nothingness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a heads-up so there won't be any unpleasant surprises or disappointment for anyone; the next chapter will be a Hoggle POV chapter, in which Sarah and Jareth won't be at all present. The point will be to show Hoggle trying to fix things for Sarah and the mess he unintentionally makes in the process. A new goblin from _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ will be introduced. There will also be a bit of a surprise at the end of the chap, which I think you all might enjoy :)
> 
> Sarah and Jareth will return in chapter 15.
> 
> Anyway, so I got a very pleasant surprise this morning. The always awesome Ben-Solo-needs-a-time-out made another piece of gorgeous fanart for this fic! Check it out [here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284677216857/)
> 
> She also made an awesome playlist for this fic, which I absolutely adore. Check it out [here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/jordan804/playlist/4sxhVyk3m7CeEKsEeRBv6t?si=B-SZcbl1S0axfzWBPRyqYw)
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated :)


	14. Of Witches and Dark Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sarah sleeps in Jareth’s arms, all cozy in the Goblin Castle, Hoggle huddles in an alley in the Goblin City, hesitant to ask for the aid of a rumored witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry it’s been a bit. I realized I hadn’t updated my side-fic since September of last year. So I decided to crank out a few chapters of that one, before tabling it for a bit again. Oh, and if anyone likes Deadpool and likes the idea of a Harley Quinn/Deadpool pairing, you might wanna check it out ;)
> 
> Okay, now that the shameless self-promotion is done (lol), I gotta warn everyone, this chapter is going to do a complete 180 from the last. This one gets pretty dark. It actually ended up darker than I had originally planned. A reader asked me to _“bring on the pain train.”_  
>  So… *puts on conductor’s hat* all aboard everyone! Choo-choo! But first…
> 
>  **(Important) Trigger Warnings:**  
>  I’m delving into some darker subject matter than usual in this chapter. So if you have trouble with topics such as rape, infant loss, domestic abuse, and the execution of an innocent person, you might wanna skip this one. 
> 
> Now, I’m not going to go into graphic detail on any of these subjects. They all come up quickly (via visions) and are glazed over without getting into too much detail. Still though, if the idea of these sorts of things bothers you then, please, don’t read on.

* * *

_She cooked- of course she did. I watched the gray smoke from the chimney curl and blend into the gray sky and knew she was busy stirring something over the fire that burned in the hearth all year round._

_-Brian and Wendy Froud (Faeries’ Tales, p. 104)_

* * *

Hoggle wasn’t sure how long he’d been huddling in the dingy, urine-reeking alleyway (on the outskirts of the Goblin City), but he surmised that it must have been quite a while. The waxing moon was hanging high overhead, and most of the general racket of everyday living had long since gone silent. The majority of nearby windows were dark, and the shutters were drawn tight.

Almost all the nearby homes were locked-up and quiet as stone. In fact, the only noise in the vicinity was the faint murmur of ebbing laughter and a few low whines of protest, as the barkeep called for last rounds at _The Plucked Chicken Pub_. It was about six doors down for where Hoggle stood, out of reach of the dim, guttering street lamps; shrouded in shadow, hiding like the sniveling coward he was.

If it had been a normal night, Hoggle would have been all too quick to take advantage of the King being preoccupied with one of his fancy-pants balls and would have eagerly gone into the pub for a much-needed pint. However, tonight he was on a mission. 

He only needed to grow a pair of stones and stop hiding like a maiden bride on her wedding night! It was pathetic; cowering in the alleyway, helplessly staring up at the rickety old sign hanging above the crooked door of the shabby little cottage right across the way.

_Zitzie-  
Lady of the Cauldron  
Diviner of Fate_

Hoggle read the sloppily painted words on the obviously termite-riddled sign, for what he guessed to be about the hundredth time since he’d ducked in the alley; telling himself he only needed to gain his bearings, to work up his nerve. Just how long ago had that been? Too long!

He was acting like a babe in nappies; about to piss himself over nothing but a bunch of stories, most of them probably nothing but drunken lies told by attention seeking fools, eager to grab an ear and an audience. So what if Zitzie was a witch? Didn’t mean she really ate the heads of other goblins or that she could actually cut the hope of others with a knife she kept in her pocketbook.

However, it **did** mean that she was the only one who could help Sarah, and hopefully, himself, get out of the mess they were in. Hoggle couldn’t even manage to find a moment in which he was confident that _The Rat_ wasn’t watching so that he might attempt to talk with Sarah about their limited options and perhaps formulate a plan.

The rule of thumb generally went that if Sarah was nearby, the chances of Jareth watching were pretty great. That, unfortunately, meant Hoggle’s hands were tied and if things went on the way they were, he’d never be able to find her that loophole he’d promised. 

If he couldn’t so much as speak to her, how in the bog was he supposed to help her? As Hoggle saw it, they were well and truly buggered up the arse, unless he sought the help of someone gifted in the art of magic; someone, as rumor had it, who wasn’t all that fond of the King.

Hoggle tried in vain to swallow down the choking lump in his throat, as he wiped his clammy, sweat-streaked palms on the embroidered lapel of his coat; a shiver running down his spine, despite the fact that his new outerwear did an excellent job of blocking out winter’s bitter chill. 

A flickering amber glow gleamed from the windows of Zitzie’s cottage, casting an eerie orange light out on the wet cobblestone street in front of the shabby little residence. The curling tendril of grey smoke wafting from the spindly, rust-tinged pipe of a chimney, told Hoggle that she was still up and working. 

She was probably brewing a concoction that could shrink a man’s nether-bits to the size of a pebble if the stories held any sort of truth. He sincerely hoped they didn’t.

A series of short, yipping shrieks suddenly sounded from within the cottage, and the hair on the back of Hoggle’s neck instantly stood on end, his breath coming to a hissing freeze within his lungs. He knew that sound. She had a damn spue in there! Gods, if there was a more loathsome creature than a spue, Hoggle didn’t know of it.

As much as he hated flower faeires and their damned biting, spues were **so** much worse. When spues bit **bad** things happened. The most common side-effect was a festering rash that slowly grew into a fungus, which most goblins (disgusting creatures that they were) found to be a delicacy. 

However, the harvesting of the fungus (from what Hoggle had heard), was extremely painful and sometimes even deadly. So it was pretty typical for the victims of a spue bite to hide their sprouting fungi. 

Hoggle knew at least three goblins back at the castle who always wore full-body armor to try and hide their spue-inflicted fungal conditions. They didn’t fool anyone though. Spue fungus had a very distinctive sickly-sweet odor, so Hoggle always knew when a bite victim was around, no matter how they covered-up. 

Then there were the really bizarre, and fairly rare, side-effects. Every once in a while, a being bitten by a spue wouldn’t get a rash or fungus, or anything of the sort. Instead, they would gain some sort of random ability, like affluent musical talent or be able to bend their knees at odd angles. 

Hoggle knew a nymph who was now able to bend herself into all sorts of odd shapes, thanks to a spue bite. She currently made a killing in the Goblin City’s red-light district.

Knowing his own rotten luck, Hoggle doubted he’d be fortunate enough to gain a useful or unique ability. A spue bite for him would more than likely mean being covered in head to toe fungus, which would then probably force him to try and remove it; to which said removal would undoubtedly mean his untimely death. 

That was simply just the sort of wretched twist the cruel fates seemed to be keen on gifting him with. So Hoggle’s sense of self-preservation nagged at him not to push his luck, just call it a night, and head back to the castle.

He knew he couldn’t though. He’d promised his dearest friend that he would try his best to help her and if helping her meant going into a spue infested death-trap, so be it.

Far deep down within himself, Hoggle knew there to a hidden streak of heroic instinct. He’d managed to tap into it, more than once, during Sarah’s Labyrinth run. He only needed to summon it now and just do what needed to be done.

The she-goblin witch really was his last shred of hope. So Hoggle figured it best to just go ahead and get the ill-advised visit to Zitzie’s cottage over with. 

It wasn’t like he had a whole hell of a lot to lose. He hadn’t a wife. He had no offspring to care for. He had a miserable job practically licking _The Rat’s_ boots, just to stay alive. 

Yes, cowards lived longer, but when one didn’t have all that much to live for, what was the damn point? Besides, time was of the essence. Who knew how long Jareth’s little party would run on for? Gods help him if the King went in search of him and he was nowhere to be found! Sarah might have made _The Rat_ swear not to harm him in their blood oath, but just as Hoggle had pointed out to the girl, there were always ways around promises and oaths, always.

Hoggle took in a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to shuffle from the alley. He then crossed the snow-slush drenched street, to Zitzie’s ramshackle abode; he moved at a slowed and overly-cautious pace. 

Truth be told, he was in fact deliberately delaying, in hopes that a good excuse not to go to the witch’s door, would suddenly spring up and spare him the unsavory task ahead. 

No such salvation came though, and all too soon, Hoggle found himself poised to knock on the shabby little cottage’s dilapidated front door.

“I lost the girl. She got away from me. I underestimated her,” Hoggle heard a strange, male voice from within; its unusual timber almost sounding like a creaking rocking-chair being forced down a gravel path.

Apparently, Zitzie had company. Hoggle dropped his hand (poised to knock), back down to his side. With a deep inhale to fortify his nerves, the dwarf gave into the burning temptation to eavesdrop. 

It wasn’t every day that one had the opportunity to learn of the clandestine doings of witches. After all, he’d only gotten as far as he had, in the uncertain surroundings of the Goblin Castle, by watching, waiting, and gleaning whatever information he possibly could.

Hoggle pressed his wart-marked ear to the rough, age-ravaged wood of the witch’s door, wincing when splinters pricked at his skin. 

“You acted too soon, you fool! The World Burrower advised you to wait to use his gift at just the right time, and you’ve wasted it. Have him ask the master for another, and mark my words…if the master ever gets free, you’ll be flayed alive. This isn’t the first time you’ve failed him, and you well know it,” a high-pitched and rather nasal voice (Zitzie’s, Hoggle guessed), scolded the man with the creaking tone.

“I know…” the creaky-voiced man conceded, sounding defeated; grave as if accepting the fate of one condemned.

A flurry of curiosity immediately stirred within Hoggle, temporarily negating his fear of his surroundings. Who was this girl they were talking about? Who was this supposed _master_? 

Wait a minute…the World Burrower…wasn’t he that feline-looking fellow that rumors claimed could burrow himself into other worlds? Those were just stories though, right? Everyone knew only Fae of the highest caliber could visit other plains of existence, without the aid of a portal of some sort.

There was no possible way a common Fae could just tear himself a hole in the damned universe! No way at all! It had to be just a bunch of gossip mongering fiddle-faddle. Hoggle knew he’d certainly never seen the supposed _World Burrower_ in action. 

To make the whole thing reek even more of a case of creative storytelling, was the fact that the only beings who had ever claimed to see the World Burrower do what he supposedly did, were all drunks that liked to linger about the _The Plucked Chicken_ and tell tales of the wholly unbelievable variety. 

They did so in hopes that someone that wasn’t all that bright, who might also have some spare coin jingling in their pockets, would become interested in their spun-up pile of lie-riddled shite and buy them a pint while they listened.

However, the way the witch and her companion were talking; sounding as sober as judges (as the human saying went), Hoggle began to wonder if the strange feline-looking being that he’d glimpsed only a handful of times in the past, really did have the ability to burrow through worlds.

“Enough of this for tonight. We’ll discuss it further tomorrow, when wrinkled old ears aren’t pressed all nosey-poesy against my door. Be gone with you. Out the back way. Apparently, I have company to attend to,” Hoggle heard the witch tell her creaky-voiced visitor.

At that, the dwarf’s blood ran cold. If there were any more words exchanged between Zitzie and her visitor, Hoggle didn’t hear them, his pulse pounding a deafening staccato in his ears. She knew he was there, listening! Gods be damned! 

Inner alarm bells foretelling of certain doom for angering witches clamored wildly within the dwarf’s skull; his knack for self-preservation was kicking in full-force. Yes, it was a fact that he didn’t have a woman to worry about pleasing, but no man, be they dwarf, human, goblin, or other, could take the brutal murder of one’s pride that would mean living with a pebble-sized winky!

Scarcely daring to breathe, Hoggle turned, ready to dash back into the alley, as if his arse were on fire. There had to be another way to help Sarah! Surely there was a safer route to the girl’s freedom…one that didn’t require his _bits_ being shrunken or potentially being bit by a spue! 

“Not so fast! Don’t go running away like a scared little rabbit on me now. How will I ever help your friend if you’re too busy acting like a gutless chicken heart? You came here for a reason, didn’t you? What other options do you have, dwarf? I doubt there are many…or any, for that matter,” Zitzie called to him from behind the closed door, her nasal voice shredding through his nerves like a bird of prey would tear through their kill.

Hoggle stood there for a moment, frozen with panic; his mind manically spinning through the possibilities, the risks, the potential cost of his own health or life, his grossly limited options. Nipper shite! 

The blasted she-goblin had the right of it. What other options did he have? He’d come to her out of sheer desperation, to begin with, knowing the likelihood of him being able to untangle Sarah from the Goblin King’s web, all on his own, was about as likely as flower fairies suddenly deciding they didn’t like biting!

“Bog take it!” Hoggle hissed under his breath and slowly turned to face the dilapidated, splinter-riddled door once again.

Well, he supposed that if his head got eaten, or if he suffered a bite from the spue the witch had in there, or if his male parts got grossly deformed by magic, he could at least claim he did his best for his friend when all was said and done. When it all boiled down to it, Hoggle knew he didn’t have much in his pathetic life except his friends, and his very dearest friend was in trouble. He **had** to help her.

_Come on then. This ain’t no different than when you jumped onto the fellow that was operatin’ the _Humungous_ , so you could save Sarah. This is for Sarah. Gotta take another leap for Sarah, she needs ya!_

Hoggle told himself as he took in a prolonged, hitching breath and reached for the rusted door handle with trembling, outstretched fingers.

“Speed it up will you? It’s damned late, and I haven’t got all night. Witch or not, I still need to sleep, you know?” Zitzie barked from inside.

Hoggle took a deep breath and scrunched his eyes closed, as if preparing to jump into the deep end of an especially frigid body of water, his heart pounding like a mad, caged thing against the wall of his chest. 

_Eh, to the bog with worrin’. No one lives forever. Even the ancients eventually fade and move on._

With that, the dwarf opened his eyes, squared his shoulders, and opened the door of the witch’s home with a prolonged, nerve-wracking creak.

The inside of Zitzie’s cottage was close to what Hoggle had pictured in his head. Every available surface was covered in jars, bottles, and vials. A vast array of herbs hung, drying from the rafters. 

Hoggle could only begin to name a few of them, from the cursory glance he shot overhead. The majority looked to be of varieties that weren’t even native to the Goblin Realm. 

Over a dozen different scents, barreled up the dwarf’s nostrils; dueling for dominance and overwhelming his senses to the point where he felt fairly lightheaded. Although, he supposed the majority of the wooziness overcoming him was probably due to the fact that he very much still feared for his life.

All around him pressed a frenzy of contradicting smells; the fresh, yeasty aroma of baking bread; the eye-watering perfume of exotic spices he couldn’t even begin to put names to; the smoky notes of burning wood; the pungent, unmistakable musk of an animal; a lingering ammonia-laced whiff of stale urine…and was that…? Yes, Hoggle realized with a throat-clenching gulp, that was indeed the wild, primal scent of freshly spilt blood. 

Just as that realization dawned upon him, like bad news delivered at the worst possible moment, Hoggle’s gaze landed, on the pitted wooden dining table, in the center of the room. Sitting upon a carving block like some sort of gruesome centerpiece, atop the table’s well-worn surface, was the source of the disquieting blood smell.

A muskul head, tusked mouth agape as if in a silent scream, sitting in a stagnant pool of its own congealing, garnet-red life-force. Its eyes had been removed and dark, empty sockets sightlessly regarded Hoggle in a macabre stare. 

The muskul’s lemon-shaped head had been carved into. The section just above its left temple (roughly the size of a human child’s fist) had been removed and was sitting on a dented metal plate, obviously half-eaten, like a discarded piece of cake. 

Muskuls, like the spue, were a breed of bestial goblin that were considered more animal than a sentient being. They closely resembled wild boars; the only differences being their large lemon-shaped noggins, their fat clawed hands and feet (instead of hooves), and the fact they walked about on two legs. 

It wasn’t against Goblin Realm law to eat them. In fact, the sections above the temples were considered, a mouth-watering delicacy and often found at the banquet tables of Fae nobility.

Hoggle, however, had never much understood why anyone would even really want to eat a Muskul. Eating something that could walk right up and look him dead in the eye felt more than a bit wrong. 

Besides, the bits above the temples were the only parts on a Muskul that were any good. The few other edible bits of their bulbous heads were either so bland or tasteless one might as well be eating mud. Worse yet, some of the so-called edible parts made strange things happen to those that consumed them. 

Some sections were known to make the skin turn purple or give the consumer double vision. Some sections were even deadly poisonous. It was never a good idea to try and carve up a muskul head when one had consumed too much ale. Eating the wrong section of the pig-like head had, unfortunately, contributed to the untimely death of many a drunken Fae.

The muskul body, although completely non-toxic was all but useless; the meat far too lean and stringy to consume. Although, the marrow of the muskul’s bones could be turned into a decent jelly that Fae of the upper-class sort seemed to like putting on toast. 

The eyes, when squished and fermented, were said to make an excellent beauty serum, which Hoggle surmised that Zitzie was in the process of doing, judging by the empty eye sockets and the mortar and pestle sitting near the carving board, which were covered in a clear jelly-like goop. 

Hoggle’s gut gave a nauseous lurch. Yeah, so maybe the rumors about Zitzie eating heads were exaggerated. She clearly ate muskul heads, which wasn’t entirely the same thing as eating regular goblin heads, but still, it didn’t make the sight of the butchered, eyeless thing any less unsettling, not to mention stomach-turning. 

“Don’t tell me the sight of a muskul head, makes you green around the gills! Aren’t you a servant to a royal? The good bits of the muskul are always served at their tables. One would think you’d be used to it by now, but you look as if you’re about to lose your supper all over my floor,” Zitzie’s nasal cackle made Hoggle all but jump clean out of his skin.

The dwarf whirled around to find the squat she-goblin right behind him. He’d been so fixated upon the gruesome display on her table that he hadn’t noticed much else. 

The witch didn’t look all that different than the few times he’d glimpsed her in the marketplace from afar. She was a round thing, the full sort of figure goblins often appreciated in their females. 

Hoggle typically found himself at least a good few inches taller than a great deal of the she-goblins he came across, but Zitzie was near his exact height; her unnerving yellow-green eyes burning into his, through the eye-slat of her ever-present spiked helm. 

The helmet was yet another thing that set Hoggle’s nerves jangling on edge. The jutting spikes that lined the jaw area were quite long and appeared wickedly sharp. The dwarf found this more than a bit unsettling, considering the glinting spike-tips were mere inches from his face. 

A long hank of frizzy red hair spilled from a hole in the top of the helmet, like a plume in a dandy’s cap. The rest of Zitzie’s snarled tresses spilled out the bottom of her intimidating headwear, looking as if they hadn’t seen a proper washing in months.

It was all kinda funny actually, in an ironic sort of way, considering it was a long-standing story among the regulars at the _Plucked Chicken_ that Zitzie was actually the most beautiful she-goblin in the realm. Hoggle surmised that it wasn’t really saying much. The goblin standard of beauty left much to be desired, as far as Hoggle was concerned. 

However, the story went that when Zitzie was younger, she’d had her heart ruthlessly broken by a Racing Goblin (notorious Lotharios the lot of them). So she hid her beauty behind a helmet and turned to the dark arts so that she might make the one who wronged her suffer beyond all imagining.

They say that somewhere, out in the wildlands, roams a disgraced Racing Goblin with a pebbled-sized winky and an arse for a face…literally.

“So, are you gonna stand there and gawp all night? Or do you actually want me to help you and your friend untangle yourselves from the pitiful mess you’ve both made?” the witch snorted, waddling over to the table and taking up the chunk of muskul meat that had been left, forgotten, on the plate. 

An earsplitting shriek exploded from the other side of the room, and Hoggle looked to find the spue he’d heard squawking earlier, bobbing excitedly upon a wooden perch that stood near the soot-stained hearth. 

“Here you are, Beanly,” Zitzie turned to the squawking spue, “There’s a good boy.”

The witch crooned almost lovingly to the horned, brown furred, bat-like creature as she tossed the chunk of meat its way. The spue’s small, sharp-toothed mouth opened and eagerly snatched the piece of muskul meat out of the air, its jaw working enthusiastically as it all but swallowed the offering whole.

“You…uh…keep that thing as a pet? You ain’t worried about getting bitten?” Hoggle ventured uneasily.

An equal mix of curiosity and foreboding churned within him, as he eyed the small leather flight cap (made to accommodate the creature’s small, curling horns), and the tiny purple vest, the spue was attired in; as if it were no more than a trained, costumed monkey from the world above.

“Beanly would never bite me,” Zitzie remarked casually, from over her shoulder, as she crossed the room to give the creature in question a doting scratch on the back of its furry little neck.

“Spue are remarkably clever little beasties. They know better than to bite the hand that feeds em. Useful little things they are too. Beanly here has one of the most fast-acting and unusually deadly venoms of his kind. Saw him bite a fellow in the marketplace about a year ago. The sorry soul was completely covered in an oozing rash before he could so much as take two steps forward. Even his eyeballs were covered in festering boils! Before a full five minutes had passed, the wretched bastard was stone-cold dead. Never seen anything like it,” Zitzie shrugged, and Hoggle gulped loudly.

“So I caught Beanly, trained him as best I could, now I have an endless supply of potent spue venom whenever the need arises for such. Besides, Beanly is smart enough to know things would **not** go well for him should he cross me,” the witch informed Hoggle, and the dwarf could only stare, wide-eyed, as her touch on the spue abruptly shifted from affectionate to punishing. 

The witch’s greyish, warty hand squeezed around the creature’s neck mercilessly, as the spue feebly beat its brown, leathery wings in protest; it’s thick rat-like tail twitching with irritation, a strangled shriek of indignation spilling from its pointy muzzle.

“Open!” Zitzie barked the command, and the spue grudgingly opened its fanged mouth, without further protest.

With her free hand, the witch then reached into the pocket of her tattered black dress and pulled out a small glass vial. 

“Be a dear and get the stopper, would you?” Zitzie shook the vial in Hoggle’s direction, her other hand still in a vise-like grip on the spue’s small, furred neck.

Hoggle wasn’t quite sure why he moved forward to assist the unnerving she-goblin when all he really wanted to do was bolt right out the door. However, the nagging reminder that the witch was the only being within the Goblin Realm with the power to help Sarah, was definitely a motivator.

With trembling fingers Hoggle reached out and pulled the cork stopper from the vial; the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling at the way the spue’s brown, beady eyes followed his every movement with evident malice burning in their disquieting depths. 

“Hold on to that,” Zitzie nodded her helmet-covered head down at the cork held tight in the dwarf’s shaking hand.

Hoggle only nodded, sweat beading at his wrinkled brow, as he tried his best to forget that Zitzie had mentioned her pet spue was a particularly deadly specimen.

_For Sarah. Just remember comin here was for Sarah._

“There we are…” Zitzie murmured, as she brought the vial up to the spue’s gaping muzzle, just as a translucent, greenish fluid began to bead at each of the creature’s wickedly pointed canines.

“Good boy,” the witch nodded in approval, as she collected a few drops of what Hoggle guessed to be the spue’s venom, from each of the creature’s small fangs.

With that, Zitzie released her hold on the spue, who puffed up his furred chest and let out a low hiss of annoyance before turning on his perch and offering them his rigid back.

Hoggle very well nearly pissed himself, expecting the deadly creature to come flying at them with fanged fury at any given moment. However, after a moment that very well felt like an eternity, the creature made no move to unleash his vengeful wrath upon them. It was then that Hoggle figured that Zitzie’s theory that the spue would do nothing to endanger his food supply, was surprisingly apt. 

“Now that I have what we need, shall we get on with it?” Zitzie asked and Hoggle all but choked on his own pounding heart, when the witch reached over and snatched the cork stopper from his hand, nearly startling him clean out of his skin.

“Ge-get on with wh-what?” Hoggle stammered, his thoughts scattered, his fear-slogged brain struggling to catch up as he dumbly watched the witch cork the bottle of green-tinged death.

“Helping you and your friend of course,” Zitzie shrugged as she waddled over to a cluttered countertop not far from the hearth.

The witch purposefully made her way to a black onyx bowl, which sat amongst the myriad of vials, bottles, and jars that littered the disorganized work surface. 

“And just what do ya know of my friend and her… _situation?_ ” Hoggle asked as he warily followed behind his host.

For a long moment Zitzie only hovered over the onyx bowl, taking up a nearby wooden spoon to stir the inky black liquid it held within, one-handed; the other still clutching the vial of spue venom tightly.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t live under a rock,” Zitzie finally replied as she continued to stir the contents of the bowl, “Everyone knows about Lady Sarah, champion of the Labyrinth…or should I say _Queen Sarah?_ ”

“That title ain’t real. The King’s only callin her that to get a rise outta’ her. She ain’t been officially crowned,” Hoggle snorted, his irritation towards _The Rat_ ultimately winning out over his fear

He crept curiously closer to the witch, peering over her shoulder for a better look at the inky liquid she stirred so intently.

“Crowned or not, she’s as good as queen already. Let’s be honest here; your human friend doesn’t have the strength to resist the pull of the Owl King. She’s like a besotted moth, drawn to a flame; flying recklessly right into her doom,” Zitzie remarked matter-of-factly.

Hoggle felt indignant irritation immediately prickle hotly within him. What did this two-bit cauldron hag know of Sarah? 

“Yer wrong. She’s strong. She’s a fighter. She beat the Labyrinth; she can beat _The Rat._ She just needs a little help is all,” Hoggle protested, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered at Zitzie.

Witch or not, he wasn’t going to let the old bat talk about his dearest friend like she was nothing but an empty-headed, simpering little fool…even if he did end up walking away with pebble-sized man-parts.

Zitzie only clucked her tongue and shook her helmet-covered head. 

“Methinks, you need to see what’s really going on here, before we can proceed. I can’t help you if you insist on deluding yourself,” the witch sighed and ceased her stirring, leaving the spoon handle propped-up on the inside rim of the onyx bowl.

“Your friend isn’t as strong as you think. She’ll end up sealing her own fate if someone doesn’t intervene. I’m willing to be that someone, dwarf, but first you need to get a few things straight,” Zitzie told him with a heavy sigh, as if she thought him especially thick-headed, which made Hoggle bristle all the more.

 _Lousy hag! You ain’t gotta clue what you’re talking about!_

Hoggle was about to put his inner thoughts to words when the witch uncorked the vial of spue venom and added a couple of drops to the black liquid in the bowl.

“What are you doin that for?” Hoggle asked, narrowing his eyes, his inner alarm bells instantly clamoring.

Anything involving spue venom, especially the unusually deadly kind, couldn’t be good.

“The venom is used in the scrying spell, there’s something you need to see,” the witch muttered as she recorked the vial, sat it down amongst the clutter on the counter, and took her spoon back in hand.

“What are ya talking about?” Hoggle groused, exasperated, feeling his patience rapidly draw to an end.

So far the damn she-goblin had done nothing but scare the shite out of him and talk to him as if he were completely mush-brained. Hoggle was beginning to think that he should have never even bothered sneaking out into the city to see her. 

Zitzie, the so-called _lady of the cauldron_ , wasn’t helpful at all! What could he possibly need to see, when he’d come to pay her this little _visit_ on stolen time in the first place? What could possibly be more important than helping Sarah? 

It was a delay he couldn’t afford when his time was as limited as it was. Hoggle hoped for what was probably the millionth time (since he’d sneaked out the secret passageway in the throne room), that the ball hadn’t ended early and that Jareth wouldn’t come seeking him out any time soon. 

_Gods, save my sorry hide if he does!_

“Oh stop glaring a hole through me and pay attention to the water in the bowl,” the witch snapped, stirring the inky _water_ and murmuring some sort of incantation, in a language Hoggle didn’t rightly recognize. 

Zitzie stirred the dark concoction once…twice…three times, then removed her spoon from the liquid altogether; ceasing her chanting and setting the wooden implement aside on the countertop. 

“Now look,” she instructed tersely, pointing to the liquid’s obsidian surface, which was unnaturally smooth for having just been stirred.

_Great, I risked gettin bogged to come here, and she has me lookin in strange bowls!_

Hoggle inwardly groused, but followed the witch’s instructions none the less; his eyes going saucer-wide as an image began to form on the liquid’s dark, glassy surface. 

That’s when he saw it, a sight that made his heart thunder in panic and his stomach bottom right out. He saw _The Rat_ , in Sarah’s chambers, lifting the sleeping girl off the embroidered settee in her sitting room; carrying her bridal-style to her bed, as easy as he pleased; as if he had every right to do so! 

_What in the name of an ogre’s rancid bum-hole is goin on here???_

With confusion and outrage bearing down on him like a punishing storm, Hoggle could only stand there, his wide-blown eyes fixated upon the image playing out on the black water, his jaw gaping.

The dwarf continued to watch helplessly, as _The Rat_ approached Sarah’s fancy bed. With the hand that gripped around the sleeping girl’s back, Jareth awkwardly flicked his ungloved fingers, and just like that, the bed’s silken coverlet turned down by itself.

The Goblin King wasted no time lying Sarah down on the plush mattress. He quickly slipped in behind her, his arms looping possessively around her waist, his cheek pillowed against her dark hair. With another twitch of _The Rat’s_ fingers, the coverlet came back up to settle over both king and girl, all cozy-like. Hoggle’s poor confused brain all but nearly imploded.

_Sarah can’t know this is goin on! She’d never allow it! This can’t be real…_

As if in direct response to his racing, frantic thoughts, the dwarf watched in stark disbelief as Sarah rolled over, her eyes still closed. The girl pressed her front to _The Rat’s_ ; snuggling up against his chest, and letting out a faint hum of contentment, as if getting all familiar-like with the King of the Goblins was perfectly natural to her!

“Do not fret, Sarah mine; I’ll protect you,” the King murmured against the crown of the slumbering girl’s head, before pressing a lingering kiss there, “You are safe with me.” 

_Safe?! With you??? Ha! That’s a laugh!_

Hoggle shouted inwardly, his voice frozen in his throat, unable to send the words past his shock-numbed lips. What in the blazes was going on?! 

Sure he’d picked up on the attraction sparking in Sarah’s eyes when she’d looked at _The Rat_ , during that audience with the blood oath. However, he never would have guessed things would progress like **this** , not with the little game the king had played with the painting.

Had the girl lost her wits completely? She might as well be snuggling on a poisonous viper! Perhaps the King had done something to her to make act like that? Or maybe none of it was real, just a witch’s twisted illusion.

_Can’t be real…can’t be…_

“Oh, it’s real alright,” Zitzie mumbled and Hoggle realized he must have voiced his fervent hope aloud.

“That’s happening right this very second. If you don’t believe me, you can go run up to the castle and have a look for yourself,” the witch shrugged a plump shoulder, as if one of Hoggle’s greatest fears suddenly becoming a brutal realization was of no real consequence to her.

“B-but…how? How is that real? She was mad enough to just about tar and feather him this afternoon! What happened? What about the ball? When did it end? I just…I just don’t understand none of this!” Hoggle gasped, feeling more than a bit lightheaded as panic gripped him mercilessly tight.

“What’s so hard to understand? Your friend is only human after all. When it comes to humans resisting the pull of the Fae, the success rate ain’t too high. Many a Faerie-born has been able to lure besotted humans over the veil, or have succeeded in beguiling said humans to lie with them in sexual congress. Where do ya think half-breeds come from? Why do you think they’re so plentiful in both this world and the one above? His kind is like catnip to her lot. Plain and simple,” Zitzie informed him curtly.

Hoggle’s poor heart nearly exploded in his chest, upon hearing the phrase _sexual congress_.

“Oh…oh Gods no! You don’t think they…” Hoggle spluttered, his cheeks burning, and his pulse pounding with a deafening _wham, wham, wham,_ in his ears.

_Gods help Sarah if The Rat got her with child! There will be no savin her then!_

“Oh calm down, they’re only sleeping…for now. Don’t go having a fit on me,” Zitzie huffed, “I only showed you this, so you’d understand how serious matters are, so you won’t go pinning your misplaced faith on the girl. Yes, she beat the Labyrinth, but that was only because her baby brother’s wellbeing was on the line. Now that the babe doesn’t factor in, it won’t be so easy for her to resist. As you can very well see.”

Hoggle could only stand there gaping at the bizarrely serene scene before him, a strangled cry of alarm choking in his throat.

Oh, sweet merciful Gods! He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that things would escalate so quickly; that Sarah would lose her damn mind and allow the King such liberties. They were buggered, well and truly buggered.

“Breathe…nice and easy…just stay with me now,” Zitzie told him, her shrill tone going just a smidge softer, with scarcely veiled pity.

Hoggle nodded, managing a few shallow breaths through the choking knot in his throat.

“Now…brace yourself, because you need to see more. You need to see what will happen if the King wins,” the witch informed him with a prolonged sigh, before plucking up her spoon once more and stirring the contents of the bowl yet again.

Oh, the bog take it! There was more?! Why did a sudden chill of foreboding shoot straight up his spine, with the way Zitzie told him to brace himself? Gods, he needed a drink! A good, strong, knock-you-on-the-arse, sort of drink. 

Hoggle silently vowed to himself, that as soon as he returned to the castle, he’d all but drown himself in goblin ale. Now there was a drink that would have just about anyone arse-over-teat! Normally he steered clear of the stuff, preferring the lighter (less torch-fuel-esqu) brews from the Elvin and Dwarfish realms.

However, if ever there was a night when a tall mug of _torch fuel_ was welcome, it would be that very night, Hoggle reasoned.

The witch resumed her earlier incantation, the foreign words harsh and guttural to Hoggle’s ears, while he tried his best to remind himself to keep on breathing.

“Now, what you are about to see is a series of events that **could** come to pass, so don’t completely lose your wits. Nothing is set in stone, remember that, dwarf. The pathway of time and future is a fickle, fluid thing; utterly unreliable at times. Still, I think you’d best get a thorough idea of what could come to be if you don’t take proper action,” Zitzie told him after she’d stopped her chanting to point her wooden spoon at him in a gesture of warning.

“Go ahead…look into the bowl, dwarf. Look and be forewarned,” the witch instructed and Hoggle did as she asked, his hands trembling at his sides.

Upon the black liquid’s smooth surface, a new image bloomed. This time when Hoggle looked into the bowl, he saw Sarah, looking only a few years older than she was now, the fresh bloom of youth still apparent on her face. 

However, the gut-twisting sadness that etched her wan features could not be disguised by her striking beauty, neither could the gleaming trail of tears that slipped slowly down her cheeks.

She was dressed all in black; except for the regal circlet of blood-red rubies, she wore upon her pale brow. A long trailing cape of inky, midnight feathers rested upon her shoulders; the hem of her obsidian beaded gown dragging upon the flagstone floor, as she made her way down a narrow corridor of the Goblin Castle.

Her steps were halting, almost fearful, and the three ladies-in-waiting that followed closely at her back looked just about as somber and unsettled as their mistress. Hoggle noted that the three ladies were also garbed in solid black, their gowns of formfitting dark lace all identical. 

At first, Hoggle was set to assume that he was witnessing some sort of funeral procession, with all the black clothing and mournful expressions. However, once his gaze caught on the bouquets of red roses clutched tightly in each of the women’s white-knuckled grasps, it dawned on him with stomach-turning realization, that he was watching a wedding march, and poor Sarah was the very picture of a regretful, frightened bride. 

“Sarah…” one of the three ladies broke away from the small group and came to walk right beside the weeping girl.

Lady Nata, Jareth’s cousin. Hoggle recognized the striking auburn-haired woman immediately. 

“I…I want you to know, that I will stay right by your side, for as long he’ll let me,” Nata murmured, in a hushed, fearful tone, one of her slender hands releasing its clenching hold on her bouquet and coming to grasp Sarah’s arm almost desperately.

“…Thank you, Nat…I appreciate it,” Sarah sniffed, her voice quavering and Hoggle felt his heart squeeze painfully within his chest at the sight.

“And please…when you’re alone with him…do not try to fight him. Do not anger him either, Sarah. **Please** ,” Nata begged, halting the joyless procession by stepping directly in front of Sarah, cupping the side of her mistress’s face with a trembling hand.

“Promise me, Sarah. Please. I cannot bear to lose you too,” the lady whispered, tears brimming in her sorrowful blue eyes.

“I…I promise…” Sarah nodded, one of her trembling hands coming to grip lady Nata’s, where it rested shakily upon her tear-stained cheek.

“We’re all right here with you, My Queen,” a dark-haired lady, Iona (Hoggle recalled), settled a comforting hand on Sarah’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, I.” Sarah struggled to form a smile, but the results were shaky and somewhat broken.

“Couldn’t we just run, Your Majesty? It’s not too late. We could just turn around and head out the secret tunnelways, through that hidden door in your chambers,” a petite blonde woman, the lady Olinda, whispered, her lower lip trembling as she spoke.

“He found that exit a few days ago. Now it’s gone, _poof_ …magicked away. Even if we did manage to get out of here, what good would it do? There isn’t any place left to run to, Lin. It’s over. He won,” Sarah murmured, dejected, as she pulled away from Nata and Iona, to resume her defeated march forwards. 

Before Hoggle could so much a release the pent-up sigh of mingled confusion, anguish, and frustration that had built up at the back of his throat, from what he’d just witnessed in the blackened water of Zitzie’s scrying bowl, the scene abruptly shifted.

This time he stared at the dimly lit interior of Sarah’s chambers, the girl in question was sitting in her queenly canopied bed, clutching the silken coverlet to her chest with trembling hands. She still wore the ruby circlet on her head; the beaded gown and feather cloak from the procession were draped neatly on the back of a chair at her bedside.

Sarah’s shoulders and arms were bare, and with the desperate way she grasped the bedclothes to her trembling form, Hoggle surmised that she was naked as the day she was born, beneath the shielding cover.

The dwarf’s first impulse was to avert his eyes. He had no interest in spying upon his friend’s private moments, but something in Sarah’s wide, fearful gaze held his stare fixated, the cold, instinctual squeeze of dread clenching his gut.

“Please…I thought I could be strong. I thought I could go through with this part, but I’m begging here…not tonight…after everything I’ve lost. I went through with the wedding. Can’t that be enough, at least for tonight? **Please** …show some compassion,” the girl turned her head, tears slipping down her cheeks, to regard a figure standing shrouded in shadow, off to the side of the bed. 

The shadowed figure said nothing. A faint glimmer of hope glinted in Sarah’s watery eyes, obviously taking the figure’s silence as quiet consideration of her pleas. Without warning, a black-gloved hand shot out from the darkness, violently gripping Sarah by the arm and forcibly dragging her from the bed and into the shadowed blackness, obstructing her from view.

_Oh Gods…oh, Gods no! No!_

The girl’s terrified wails echoed throughout her bedchamber, and Hoggle found himself involuntarily crying out her name.

“Sarah!”

Stark, breath-stealing alarm, quickly gave over to blinding hatred. It raged within the dwarf, momentarily hazing his vision, as he grit and gnashed his teeth, uselessly wishing _The Rat_ stood powerless before him, so that he might wrap his hand’s about the King’s royal neck and strangle the very life right out of him. 

He didn’t need to see Jareth’s snide, loathsome face to know it was him who’d lurked in the shadows, yanking the girl from her bed, as if he had every right to do so. The pile of nipper shite that called himself a king always did think he could just take whatever he wanted. 

Oh so help him, Hoggle vowed, if Jareth ever dared to make what he’d just seen in the witch’s bowl a reality, he’d find a way to end the King of the Goblins, magic or no.

“Your thoughts are so loud and angry, even I can hear them. Try to calm yourself. There’s more…” Zitzie mumbled, pointing a greyish finger to the blackened water, as the scene shifted yet again

This time, when the image set upon the water, Hoggle saw Sarah, leaning up against the closed door of her sitting room; futilely pounding her fists against its solid, burnished surface. Her knuckles were raw and weeping crimson, as if she’d been at it for hours. 

It was then that Hoggle noticed that the dark, short-sleeved dress Sarah wore clearly displayed a disturbing variety of bruises and marks. Purplish-blue, finger-shaped blotches adorned most of her upper-arms and red, angry gouges ringed each of her wrists. Rope burns (bad ones), from the look of it. 

A dizzying wave of horror swept over the dwarf; his heart all but pounding right from his chest.

_Why?! Why would he do somethin like that to her?!_

The King had always been an entitled piece of shite, but this was a new low…even for him…

“Please! Let me out! You’ve kept me in here for days! You promised me contact with my family if I married you without a fight! **You promised, you fucking evil bastard!** ”

No vocal response came to Sarah’s enraged cries. Instead, her room began to shake as if in the grips of a violent quake. The girl was overturned, landing hard on her backside, as the floor beneath her trembled like the deck of a ship caught in the grips of a raging storm. 

Cracks shot through the pretty mural-painted walls, like dark veins through skin. Chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling, sending white dust hurtling up into the air, as they dropped and exploded against the splintering wooden floor. Furniture overturned; fine china and other such fripperies crashed to the floor in a deafening clatter of breakage.

Sarah curled herself into a tight ball, her arms covering the back of her head in a desperate, protective gesture, as the room all but collapsed in on itself; wide, threatening cracks breaking open on the ceiling. Just as Hoggle feared the damn thing would come crashing down right on poor, terrified Sarah’s huddled body, everything suddenly stilled. 

The quaking ceased, and the room fell into an eerie, unnatural sort of silence. Nearly forgetting how to breathe, Hoggle watched Sarah cautiously uncurl herself, as she shakily came to an upright position, amongst the ruined remains of her formerly pristine sitting room; her arms and shoulders coated in powdery white plaster dust. 

The poor girl, obviously in shock, only sat there in the wreckage, blinking; her pupils blown wide and her skin almost as pale as the white dust that clung to her trembling frame. 

Then suddenly, as if someone had merely flipped a switch, the room was instantly back to rights; not a single sign of damage remaining, everything perfect and exactly as it had been just moments ago. Even the plaster residue vanished from Sarah’s arms and shoulders; not so much as a single hair out of place upon her head. 

It was then that the girl broke, like the wall of a dam bursting wide open. Deep, wracking sobs shook her body, nearly as violent as the quake itself; prolonged, guttural cries spilled from Sarah's trembling lips.

Hoggle felt the wet slide of tears down his own weathered cheeks, but he didn’t even bother brushing them away; his heart all but splitting wide open, the burning pain of it almost a tangible thing.

The scene shifted again, and before Hoggle could even settle his breath and attempt to soothe his obliterated nerves, his wide, terror-stricken eyes took in a grim sight that made blackness eat at the edges of his vision and panic choke the air right from his throat. 

Sarah lay in her bed, deathly pale and sweat-drenched; her hair lank and matted around her on her pillow. The nightshift she wore appeared soaked through with perspiration and her coverlet was all bunched and twisted around her middle. Her knees, uncovered by the bedding, were bent and parted; the soles of her feet planted flat upon the mattress.

It was the sight of the large, angry red stain that painted the bed’s surface (right between Sarah’s parted legs) that had Hoggle’s bowels turning to ice water. The blood even seemed to have soaked right through the edge of the coverlet that obscured her sex from view. 

Two small dwarfish women, attired in stark white dresses, each wearing the green veils of healers over their faces, flanked each side of the girl’s bloodied bed. The healer to the left was holding a small clay bowl filled with some sort of steaming herbal concoction, which she brought to Sarah’s dry, cracked lips, but the girl made no move to drink.

“Please, drink now. You’re going to pull through, Your Majesty. You’ll be just fine,” the healer murmured in a gentle, soothing voice, her tone completely at odds with their bleak, macabre surroundings. 

“M-my…baby…” Sarah rasped, turning away from the bowl, her eyes glazed and half-lidded, as she feebly turned her head to look to the healer on her right; just that small gesture appearing as if it cost her what little energy she had left.

“I…I didn’t hear him cry. He’s so quiet. Is he…okay?” Sarah, asked her voice a threadbare whisper.

It was then that Hoggle noticed that the healer Sarah had turned to was clutching a small, unmoving, linen-swaddled bundle, tight to her chest. The healer’s stubby, dwarfish hands (as well as the long sleeves of her white dress), were stained a ghastly scarlet. Evidently, she had been the one to deliver the babe in question.

However, with the way, the healer’s veiled head hung as if in sorrowful regret, Hoggle guessed, with cold, creeping realization, that the delivery had not been a successful one.

_Oh, Sarah…oh Gods, why?!_

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty…but the babe…he didn’t survive. The little prince…he was born asleep,” the healer clutching the silent bundle sniffed, and Hoggle didn’t need to see the woman’s face beneath her veil to know she wept for the precious life lost.

Hoggle’s heart felt as if it were being ripped straight from his chest as he watched his friend squeeze her eyes tight, her body wracking with sobs so deep and so sorrowful, that they didn’t make a single sound. Sarah only lay there for an endless moment, shaking like a sapling in the wind, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

“I tried calling for the King when we saw the first signs of something not being right…he still hasn’t come,” the healer with the bowl informed Sarah apologetically, seemingly giving up on the girl drinking the steaming tonic, and taking a few steps back as if to give her a tiny measure of privacy as Sarah openly mourned.

“Don’t bother trying again,” Sarah responded at last, in a tear-choked, broken tone, “He won’t come. The bastard didn’t care that I was unwilling in the act that put the baby inside me. I’m not surprised that he doesn’t care if the baby even lived. Maybe it’s better this way…that my poor baby will never know what kind of monster his father is, or worse yet, become just like him. At least my son is spared that.” 

Before Hoggle could even catch his breath, the scene shifted once more. The dwarf saw an image of an older Sarah form upon the black water; late twenties, early thirties, he guessed. She stood before a somber congregation in the throne room; dressed all in black once again, a familiar pendant shining at her neck. Yet it wasn’t the teardrop-shaped orb the King had gifted her with. 

Instead, Hoggle found himself looking right at Jareth’s silver arrowhead-shaped amulet, winking in the dull torchlight, the symbol of his station, passed on to him after the death of his father. The dwarf couldn’t recall ever seeing _The Rat_ without it and the churn of needling unease roiled in his gut. There was something just so wrong about it resting around Sarah’s throat, like a claim, like a collar around the neck of a pet mongrel.

However, her wearing the King’s jewelry was far from the most unsettling sight playing out within the scrying bowl. There was something not quite right about the expressions that were worn upon the faces of the assembled goblins and members of the gentry, as they watched their queen climb the dais steps and seat herself upon the King’s circular throne. 

They looked upon her with evident fear; their heads bowed low, their clasped hands shaking. Just the tiniest measure of contempt and resentment could be seen, flickering like a guttering flame, in the eyes of those brazen enough to look directly at her.

_But why would anyone look at Sarah like that?_

The dwarf puzzled to himself, but just as the query crossed his mind, he began to notice a few rather unsettling things about the Goblin Queen.

For one thing, her eyes. They usually danced with a sort of vibrancy, an undeniable brilliance…now they only looked flat, lifeless, and flinty. A hard sort of calculating glare glinted in their green depths. 

There was also an unnerving set to Sarah’s mouth, a deeply etched frown that was the complete polar opposite of the broad, mischievous grin that commonly graced his friend’s lips. The new, foreign expression she wore, spoke of things that Hoggle thought utterly impossible to ever associate with Sarah; merciless determination, detachment…even a hint of cruelty, and Hoggle found himself involuntarily rubbing his tear-dampened eyes, just to determine he was, in fact, seeing true. 

_Sarah…? What’s happened to you?_

“His Majesty, the King of the Goblins, is away attending to matters in the north. Until he returns, I will be dealing with business as usual. Now, I have been informed there is a case involving the theft of royal property. I will hear it now. Bring the accused forward,” Sarah spoke, and a prickling layer of gooseflesh broke out on Hoggle’s arms.

Sarah didn’t even sound like Sarah! It was like every last iota of warmth had just up and evaporated from her being; her tone cold, flat, and utterly devoid of emotion altogether.

Two red-armored guards came forward, dragging a too-thin goblin fellow between them. The goblin’s knee-length breeches were tattered at the edges and looked all but threadbare, his stained tunic in the same pitiful condition. Goblins were generally known not to worry too much about their appearances, and personal hygiene was usually overlooked. 

However, with the way the fellow looked to be all but a bag of bones, with leathery skin stretched tight over his skeletal frame, it seemed to Hoggle that the poor soul was suffering more from unfortunate circumstances than it being a case of a goblin simply being goblin-like.

“State your name for the assemblage, please,” Sarah nodded towards the captive, as the guards deposited him roughly on the floor at the foot of the dais steps.

Hoggle noted that she might have said _please,_ but her tone brokered zero traces of the polite civility that the word usually entailed.

“Th-Thi-Thimble, Your Majesty. M-my name is Thimble,” the bone-thin goblin stammered, shakily coming to his feet.

“Tell me, Thimble, why is it that you’ve been brought to me today?” Sarah asked, with all the warmth of a slab of granite.

“I…I…you see, Your Majesty, I own a small farm on the edge of the Goblin Realm. About two months ago, the King’s army marched through, on their way to the Elvin Realm…they forced me…errr…ummm…they _requested,_ I give them food and allow them to make camp on my land and…you see, My Queen, they ate us out of house and home! We have nothing left! They depleted my stores entirely, slaughtered all my chickens, even harvested what they could of my crops and took them when they left. My wife and I have been scavenging to keep ourselves fed ever since. Most nights we go to bed hungry,” Thimble wrung his bony hands, tears gathering in his eyes as he spoke.

“Yes, you were expected to do your duty as a citizen of this realm and provide the royal army with much-needed supplies. After all, **all** lands, within this realm, belong to His Majesty, the King,” Sarah injected pointedly, her dark brow arching in evident disapproval, “Now, continue.”

“W-we were desperate, Your Majesty. What little our neighbors had left, after the royal army came through, they wouldn’t share. Bandi, my wife…she’s sick and she needs food. So I came here, thinkin that maybe someone would gift me with a few sacks of grain and maybe a bushel of vegetables…anything really; just something to tide us over until the new crops come in.”

“After all, we shared what we had with His Majesty’s army…so I figured, why couldn’t His Majesty share with us? But the woman in the kitchens…she turned me away. I couldn’t go home empty-handed, so I sneaked in, waited until they weren’t payin attention, and stuffed whatever I could in my pockets, and was tryin to haul out a sack of grain when I was caught. Please, My Queen, …show my poor wife and I some mercy. I only did it cause I was out of options,” Thimble plead.

“Stealing from the crown is **never** an option. His Majesty’s law makes that explicitly clear. Unfortunately, in my husband’s absence, I am expected to carry out the law in his stead. No matter your circumstances, you chose to break that law of the realm, Thimble. The law plainly states that all theft of royal property shall be seen as an act of treason. The price of treason is death,” Sarah monotoned, sounding as if she were simply stating that the sky was blue and that water was wet, rather than delivering an unjust death sentence. 

_What?!!! Sarah, you can’t mean it! You can’t!_

“Bu-But…My Queen, if I am de-dead…who will care for my Bandi? She’ll die without me! Please, I beg you to reconsider! I meant no disrespect! We were starving! Please!” Thimble cried, lurching forward (most likely to ascend the dais and throw himself at Sarah’s feet) but was stopped by the red, armored hand of a guard clutching his tattered collar.

“The law is the law,” Sarah looked to the trembling, tearful goblin with dead, empty eyes, “Take him away. Make it quick, a beheading.”

“Mercy, Your Majesty! Mercy! Please, I beg you! They say that once, you were a kind-hearted soul! Where is your heart now?! Please!” Thimble cried, trying his best to struggle against the guards who had begun to drag him away, but the goblin’s malnourished state had left him about as strong as a day-old kitten. 

“My heart? It… _he_ … died a long time ago. You mistake me, Thimble, I **am** showing mercy. This world is no place for anyone who has any measure of compassion, or any other sort of weakness, left in them. You’ll only be devoured alive by the wolves, who now dominate this place. My husband is the king of the wolves. If he were the one hearing your case, I have no doubt that he would have you disemboweled in the city square and then order your home to be burnt down, with your wife still alive inside it.”

“Trust me; a clean, swift death is a blessing and the only thing within my power to grant you. Some of us will never know the gift of leaving this world behind, no matter how we might wish it. Count yourself as lucky,” Sarah told the now wailing goblin, as the guards dragged him away.

Whether or not the poor, pitiful fellow heard her over his own frantic cries, Hoggle wasn’t certain. In fact, the only thing the dwarf was certain of at that moment, was that his stomach was lurching a desperate warning, and if he didn’t turn away, he was going to lose the dregs of his dinner right in the black waters of the witch’s scrying bowl.

“Enough! I’ve seen enough! Please, no more!” Hoggle cried, turning away from the bowl, taking in deep, steadying breaths to calm the angry churn of his gut.

“Do you see now? Do you see what will come of this mess if nothing is done? Your Sarah will become that soulless thing, sitting on the throne playing judge, jury, and executioner. Do you understand the importance of immediate action now?” Zitzie’s voice was but a shrill hiss in his ear.

“Yes…” Hoggle nodded weakly, his knees finally giving out as he let himself sink to the grimy cottage floor.

“What do I have to do? What’ll it take to save her from _that_ ,” Hoggle gestured feebly behind himself, in the vague direction of the scrying bowl.

“Very little will be needed of you, actually. You see, I have quite a few friends who never much liked the fact that the owl was crowned in the first place. They’ll be more than eager to assist you. All you have to do is listen to them and do whatever it is they ask of you, when the time comes. Can you do that, dwarf? Can you do that for your Sarah?” the witch asked, crouching down to his level and moving in close. 

Hoggle’s nostrils filled with the unwelcome sour mildew stink that seemed to cling to Zitzie’s squat body, like a tick to a dog. The dwarf tensed at the needling sting of spike-tips on Zitzie’s helmet, brushing against his cheek, as she murmured to him. 

The witch gave him what Aboveground folk often referred to as the _heebie-jeebies_ or _the creeps_. Her yellow-green eyes almost seemed to glow within the darkened cavern of her helmet, burning into him, when he turned to face her ungodly stare dead-on. 

Gods help him; if he had any real choice, he would have never even dreamed of turning to someone like her…but that was the thing. He had no choice.

“Yes…” Hoggle nodded, as the horrific images he’d seen within the bowl played in his dazed brain on an unrelenting loop; flaying his senses raw.

“I’ll do it. For Sarah…”

“Good. Then we have an agreement?” Zitzie asked, her nasal voice wearing away at the last ragged threads of Hoggle’s already frazzled nerves.

“Yeah…we gotta a deal,” Hoggle sighed, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if that would somehow ward off the image of Sarah’s cold, soulless eyes as she sent the poor, starving Thimble to his death.

“Good,” Zitzie muttered, and Hoggle felt the cold, clammy brush of her hand on his own, his eyes flying open.

“Let’s shake on it, shall we?” the witch rasped.

With a dejected nod, Hoggle allowed her to grasp his hand in a firm, resolute shake, and Gods help him, the shiver that ran down his spine at the action felt like someone trampling on his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so before anyone freaks out on me, take a chapter from Sarah’s book and just keep in mind that things aren’t always what they seem. Also note that it’s been stressed via dialogue, that no vision is set in stone. Same goes for scrying visions. *comforting hugs to all*
> 
> Okay, so this chapter (as usual) got too lengthy. There’s more to this interaction, as well as the surprise I mentioned last time. So the next chapter will be another Hoggle POV, but I’ll try my best to keep it short. Then on to more Jareth and Sarah in chapter 16.
> 
> Thanks for reading and bearing with me guys *blows kisses* <3
> 
>  
> 
> **Credits and Sources :**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Spue-**  
>  (Mentioned in _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ , p. 56)  
> A form of flying goblin that nests under the eaves of the most public buildings in the Labyrinth. The venom from their bites can do all sorts of nasty things to unsuspecting victims, as mentioned in this chapter.
> 
>  **Muskul-**  
>  (Mentioned in _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ , p. 110) an edible goblin that kind of looks like a boar. There’s even an illustrated diagram stating which parts of the Muskul are good to eat and which ones can have a strange side-effect on the consumer.
> 
>  **Zitzie-**  
>  (Mentioned in _The Goblins of Labyrinth_ , p.30)  
> In the book, it says she’s rumored to be the most beautiful of all goblins, but also the most feared because of the tools she carries in her handbag. 
> 
> Examples:  
> *A knife that can cut the hope of another.  
> *A pick she can puncture the good dreams of others with.  
> *A ladle she can spoon the luck of another away with.
> 
> So, I interpreted all this as she’s a witch and can do some scary hoodoo. Thus my take on her in this fic :)


	15. Of World Burrowers and Boot Polishers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoggle concludes his business with the witch and has not one, but two, strange and unexpected encounters on his way back to his room in the Goblin Castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everyone! Yay, another chapter out! I just don’t wanna think about how much more I have to go or I may just start to sob from writer’s remorse. lol jk
> 
> So in this chapter, I’ll finally make good on my promise for a surprise.  
> Also (and no this isn’t the surprise), I’ve done something in this chapter that I’ve never done before; there will be not just one character POV in this chap, but two. The second POV will come in towards the end. Okay, enjoy!
> 
> *throws yay for slowly but surely chipping away at this monster of a fic glitter*

* * *

_Now you must decide which road to choose…or has it been decided for you?_

_-Brian Froud (World of Faeire, p. 78)_

* * *

“I…I just don’t quite understand…” Hoggle shook his head as if trying to shake the tangle of disturbing images he’d just witnessed right out of his skull; still sitting like a slumped marionette with cut strings, right on the witch’s dirty floor.

“I know that His Majesty has always been a cruel shite. It runs in his family an all. Ya know, with the mother an brother an such. Yet…I always saw a little bit of his father in em too, I guess. Just a little; in the sense that he’d never lay a hand on a woman he cared for. I just can’t believe he would go that far…that he would do all of **that** to her,” Hoggle let out a broken sigh, scrubbing a weary hand over his tear-stained face, feeling about as low as chicken shite on the bottom of one’s boot.

“Here, ya need to get up off the floor. Beanly is fond of using it as a toilet, and we wouldn’t want to soil those fancy clothes now, would we?” Zitzie grumbled, hauling him up roughly by one arm and all but dragging him to his feet.

“As for the Owl…well, obsession always rides on the back of madness, now doesn’t it? In more instances than naught, when one actually gains the object of their obsession it doesn’t calm anything, it just fuels the fire, so to speak,” the witch drawled as she gripped him by the wrist and lead him to one of the spindly chairs seated around her dining table.

“Here, sit. I need to be getting to bed soon, but first I’ll send you back with a little something to ease all those troublesome thoughts that are more than likely hopping around in your brain like beetles in a frying pan,” Zitzie told him as she shuffled over to a cupboard by her dilapidated rust-tinged stove, which looked as if its heyday had been about a good century ago.

The witch’s loaded words, of obsession and madness being as one, sent Hoggle’s already reeling mind back to a month prior, during that fateful audience in the throne room.

_“But…why? I seriously don’t get it! Why keep toying with me? Is being a king in a magical world really that dull of a gig, that you just have to keep messing with me? And what do you mean by absolution? How in the hell do you even see this ending?” Sarah had asked The Rat._

_“There is only one way I will ever allow it to end; with you as my queen,” Jareth had answered and Hoggle still vividly remembered the possessive, manic gleam in the King’s eye when he’d looked at the girl standing before him, her future securely cupped in the palm of his gloved, tyrant hand._

The dwarf then let his recollection drift further back still, to the seemingly endless months where the King idled in own filth, awash in booze and wrapped in a never-ending parade of women, scarcely functional without the girl in his possession. Oh yes, madness most definitely rode on the back of obsession, the witch was all too right about that. 

He’d seen it play out right in front of him, Jareth’s reckless obsession; he’d felt the burn of it via the ill-treatment he’d received from _The Rat_ when things hadn’t gone the way the King would have preferred. Apparently, it was all going to get a hell of a lot worse. It was going to build and build like a roaring bonfire…and then the King’s burning, rampant fixation would incinerate them all, even Sarah. **Especially** Sarah!

Hoggle shuddered at the thought of the girl’s dead, cold eyes when he’d looked in the scrying bowl. Jareth would burn the soul right out of her.

“Ah, here it is! The drink of your countrymen, Dwarfish whiskey,” Zitzie called from over her shoulder as she pulled a thick, amber-colored bottle from the cupboard, “Now, I’m just going to fix it up a bit. Put a few things in it to calm your nerves and help you sleep.”

Hoggle gave a despondent shrug of acceptance. He didn’t care what she put in the damn thing, as long as it would calm the bleak tangle of hopeless, panicked thoughts, twisting and knotting themselves like rampant-growing vines, within the confines of his skull. She could put spue venom in it for all he cared at that moment. 

_You won’t stop will ya? Not until you destroy her. What’d she ever do to you, to deserve all this? To deserve what you’ll do to her?_

Hoggle thought bitterly, as an image of _The Rat’s_ leering, smug face formed within his troubled mind.

_Damn you Jareth…damn you to the fetid pits of the underworld!_

Over his shoulder he heard Zitzie rummaging around on her cluttered countertop, the clink and tap of bottles and vials only further fraying his bleeding-raw nerves. He was about to tell the witch she needn’t mind. There was plenty of goblin ale to be found in the castle, and quite honestly, the strange smells of her home were making his head ache.

He only needed the fresh night air on his walk home, maybe a cup of ale, and then his bed. He couldn’t think of anything more tonight, not when every time he let his brain latch onto a thread of contemplation, he saw Sarah sitting on the King’s throne, doling out a death sentence as if it meant nothing.

_“Trust me; a clean, swift death is a blessing and the only thing within my power to grant you.”_

Hoggle shuddered at the recollection, looking to the gruesome, eyeless muskul head on the table, just in front of him; needing something, **anything** to distract him from his troubling thoughts of Sarah and the future.

_Methinks, you’re prolly the better off of us two, fella._

The dwarf thought bitterly, eyeing the head as he rose to leave. He’d had enough of this place for one night.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Zitzie admonished with a cluck of her tongue, “Not so fast, don’t forget this.”

The witch shook the freshly doctored bottle of whisky at him. 

“Drink, you’ll feel better about everything once you’ve got this down your gullet,” the she-goblin assured him.

Hoggle very much doubted that, but he figured something strong and magically altered couldn’t very well hurt. Gods knew he needed whatever fortitude he could possibly get at the moment and if that fortitude came in a bottle, so be it.

Accepting the whiskey with a limp hand, Hoggle murmured his dispassionate thanks to the witch, and glumly headed for the door. 

“My friends will be in touch when the time is right, dwarf. However, that time isn’t now. It may be a bit. Just don’t go getting complacent in the meantime. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you,” Zitzie urged him and Hoggle could only manage a small nod in response.

He sincerely hoped these so-called friends of hers would come through for Sarah and that the witch wasn’t overestimating their abilities. He hoped for a lot of things…one of which being a blessed moment of silence in his head, in which the scrying bowl images weren’t incessantly playing on a loop; haunting him like an unrelenting wraith.

_“Take him away. Make it quick, a beheading.”_

“Goodnight,” Hoggle muttered to Zitzie tersely, as he pushed out the rickety door and headed out into the frigid night air.

He’d taken no more than five steps forwards in the slush-coated streets, before he found himself desperately yanking on the stopper of the whiskey bottle, like a drowning man yanks on a lifeline.

_Just make it go away. Make me forget what I saw for just a few hours…_

Hoggle wordlessly pleaded to the brown bottle clutched tight in his hands, as he brought the rim to his wrinkled lips.

_Just make it go away…_

Hoggle took a long, needy pull from the bottle, the familiar sweet burn of Dwarfish whiskey streaking a warming trail down his throat and into the pit of his stomach.

_Oh Gods, yes. Reminds me of home._

He thought, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he thought of growing up in the Dwarfish mountains as a boy; helping his pap with their heard of long-haired goats and driving his ma absolutely mad, getting incessantly underfoot, as she went about making meat pies for supper or hanging the wash out to dry.

It had been a humble life; simple, but indisputably good. To think of it now made Hoggle curse himself a fool for ever leaving, thinking he’d find himself something better, more fulfilling, in the land of the goblins. Instead, he’d wound up a lowly gardener to the Goblin King, then to his tyrant son, and now…now he was swimming in more shite than a privy cleaner.

Taking another greedy pull from the bottle, Hoggle started forward once again, surprised when his steps faltered slightly and a hazy, swimmy feeling took up residence within his head. Either Dwarfish whiskey was even stronger than he recalled or this was the doing of Zitzie’s magic. Either way, Hoggle couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

The dreamy sort of fog that had begun to settle over his body made him feel lighter than air, all his troubles popping like soap bubbles adrift on the wind. The new, pleasant warmth spread all throughout his body, and it felt **so** damn good! He couldn’t feel the cold at all anymore! 

It was as if winter had magically shifted to summer around him, and Hoggle soon grew so warm, that he began to awkwardly fumble with his coat, still clutching the whiskey bottle tight as he lurched onward. Amber liquid sloshed up the neck of the bottle, dribbling down to the already snow-wetted street as Hoggle swayed forward, towards the familiar towering spires of the Goblin Castle.

Hoggle took another swig, already unreasonably addicted to the dizzying warmth that spread all through his being whenever he did so, giggling loudly to himself when he finally squirmed free of his coat and enthusiastically tangled it about his shoulders.

“Hmmm…seems a bit late to be wandering around in the state you’re in, dwarf. Creatures of a questionable moral standing are known to roam these streets at night. Of course, I **am** including myself amongst that group,” a voice, slick like boot polish (with an almost purr-like quality to it), drawled from behind him.

Hoggle spun around, cackling with laughter when he very nearly tripped and scarcely managed to keep himself from landing face-first on the slush-covered street. The dwarf blinked his bleary eyes, willing them to focus on the large grey, feline-like creature sitting on its haunches, regarding him with an intrigued tilt of his large, furry head.

Craning his head up, up, **up** , Hoggle quickly surmised that the overlarge cat-thing was nearly Sarah’s height, perhaps even taller. If it wasn’t for all the liquid courage he’d just ingested, Hoggle might have very well pissed himself at the creature’s unnervingly close proximity. However, with the warm haze of the doctored whiskey settling over him, like a cozy blanket, the dwarf could only bring himself to feel rapt fascination.

The cat-thing had large orange eyes, which glowed like twin lanterns within its furred head. What was truly unusual about those eyes, however, was that they weren’t really all that feline. There was no slit-like iris…no, the glowing orbs that regarded Hoggle with keen interest were oddly humanoid; their rounded irises were tracking his every movement.

The tail was rather odd too. It lashed behind its master as if it were its own energetic entity; bending, swirling, and curling as if it were a fur-encased liquid and had no bone structure whatsoever to contend with.

Recognition belatedly flared within Hoggle’s booze-slogged brain. He’d seen this fellow before. In fact, this was the very creature he’d overheard Zitzie discussing with her visitor! 

“Hey, I know you! Yer who they call the _World Burrower_. You looked smaller the last time I gotta glimpse of ya,” Hoggle informed the cat creature, with a weary sort of slur tinting his words.

The World Burrower’s mouth pulled into a mile-wide grin, large pointed teeth on prominent display, winking in the glow of the creature’s bizarre eyes. The sight would have probably been rather unnerving to Hoggle, that is if his head didn’t currently feel as if it were encased in a mound of wool.

“You’ll find, dear dwarf, that I am not restrained by things like size, surroundings…or even logic for that matter,” the creature chuckled to himself and within a blink, was the exact same size as Hoggle.

“Wha…h-how did ya do that?” Hoggle gasped, rubbing his eyes and blinking furiously, making certain that what he’d seen hadn’t just been the whiskey pulling tricks on his poor whirling mind.

“I’ve always had a knack for such things,” the creature purred, in a smooth, self-satisfied manner, suddenly standing upright (on two legs), as if he were more man than feline.

“And, so you know, I have an actual name. Cheshire, at your service,” the creature grinned all the wider, with a wink of a glowing eye, “I find the moniker the locals tagged me with to be a bit cumbersome. _World Burrower_ …doesn’t roll off the tongue quite right.” 

“I…I heard them talkin bout you tonight,” Hoggle blurted, not quite sure why he suddenly felt the need to tell the cat-thing that little tidbit, but whiskey always did have a penchant for loosening his lips. 

Cheshire’s overlarge ears visibly pricked, his odd liquid-like tail curling in a manner that one could only describe as intrigued.

“Oh, did you now? And whom might _they_ be?” Cheshire inquired.

“The witch…Zitzie…and her friend. Didn’t see who the friend was though. Was listenin outside the door before she told me to come in,” Hoggle shrugged.

“Ah, I thought I smelled the stink of Zitzie’s magic clinging to you; pungent stuff it is too. Pray tell, what were the witch and her _friend_ saying about me?” Cheshire prompted with a whirling flick of his tail.

“I dunno…somethin about you giving a gift…and a master…and someone wasting the gift. Didn’t make no sense to me anyhow,” Hoggle punctuated his words with a yawn, feeling the pull of sleep beckon him back to his bed in the castle.

“Interesting…and did the witch discuss any of this with you when you entered her _charming_ little abode?” Cheshire pressed.

“No…she just…showed me things I didn’t wanna see, in that damn bowl of hers. Said she and her friends would help my friend. Gave me this!” Hoggle grinned widely jiggling the whiskey bottle at the cat creature.

“Indeed…” Cheshire regarded the bottle as if it were filled with goblin piss, his furry upper lip curling in evident revulsion. “I would go easy on that, if I were you, dwarf. You might also want to hurry on home. It’s not the best idea to be wandering this realm at night anymore. Things long asleep now begin to stir awake.”

With that, the cat creature sliced his claws at the empty air. To Hoggle’s wide-eyed astonishment, the glowing, jagged line of a rip-like portal suddenly appeared out of nowhere, bringing with it an odd gust of wind and the peculiar acrid odor of something burnt. It was as if there had been an invisible fabric hanging all around them and Cheshire had merely clawed a hole right through it.

“Wh-what…in the…name of the Gods…” Hoggle gasped, swaying on his feet.

“I bid you goodnight, dwarf. And good luck not getting yourself into any further trouble. It appears you rather have a penchant for it,” Cheshire chuckled low, casting Hoggle another sharp-toothed grin, before wriggling his furry body through the glowing rip-like opening.

As soon as the cat creature was through, the glowing tear closed-up; leaving only empty space and an extremely gobsmacked, inebriated Hoggle in his wake.

“Well…I’ll be an orc’s cousin! What they say bout that fellow is true after all! I’ll be damned!” Hoggle exclaimed loudly, shaking his head in bewildered awe. 

“Quiet down out there! Some of us are tryin ta sleep!” a belligerent goblin poked its matted head out of a nearby window, casting Hoggle a look that could very well curdle milk.

“Yeah, yeah…no need to get yer knickers in a twist,” the dwarf grumbled, taking another greedy swig from his bottle and lurching homeward on jelly-like legs.

* * *

By the time Hoggle reached the castle and crawled through the secret tunnel behind the King’s throne (a handy little short-cut he liked to take from time to time), he could scarcely see straight. His coat had become so tangled around his throat that it was all but strangling him. 

Most of his whiskey had been dumped in the tunnel (in a failed attempt to drag the bottle as he crawled), but Hoggle wasted no time eagerly opening his mouth to let the few remaining drops wet his greedy tongue; laughing hysterically when the empty bottle slipped his grip and hit the throne room floor in a deafening shatter.

“Whoops! Butterfingers!” Hoggle cackled, wobbling from behind the throne to see a few of the many slumbering goblins (who regularly slept on the throne room floor), crack a bleary sleep-crusted eye in his direction, mutter in irritation, and then settle right back into their snore-punctuated dreams. 

“Shhh…that’s right…back to sleepy-land with ya…” Hoggle murmured a bit too loudly, before attempting to go down the four dais steps and failing…miserably.

Tripping over his own feet, the dwarf tumbled down the steps like a discarded ragdoll, his violent descent punctuated by many a blistering curse.

“What in the name of Danu’s teats are you doing?!” came a small, but extremely irritated voice from behind where Hoggle lay sprawled, bruised, and winded, at the foot of the steps.

“Apparently, I’m breakin my own damn neck,” the dwarf replied with a breathless chuckle.

“Yes, **and** you’re waking everyone up. Ugh! I can smell the drink on you from up here! You’re drunk as a skunk!” the small voice chided, in a whispering sort of mock-shout and Hoggle turned his reeling head in the speaker’s direction.

Out from under the throne’s tattered draperies crawled the boot polisher, his shock of pink hair in more disarray than usual, an extremely sour expression resting on his plump, youthful features. Apparently, the lad wasn’t very happy about being rousted from slumber in the dead of night.

Hoggle couldn’t rightly blame him and was about to apologize when, instead, he found himself pondering aloud; “Why do ya suppose they say that? _Drunk as a skunk?_ I’ve heard em say it _above_ too. Makes ya kinda wonder…if all skunks are notorious drunkards or somethin. You ever seen a skunk drink, boy?”

The boot polisher made a noise of exasperation from deep within his throat and began to make his way down the dais steps.

“ **No** , can’t say I have, and I’ll have you know that I’m not a male, so you can shut it with that _boy_ shite,” the boot polisher grumbled.

Hoggle’s muzzy brain all but startled at that bit of information, the gears in his mind (made sluggish from all the whiskey), all but audibly ground together as he struggled to process exactly what the pink-haired goblin had just told him.

“Wha…what do ya mean _not a male_?” Hoggle blinked incredulously, struggling to sit upright.

The boot polisher made another throaty sound of annoyance.

“I **mean** , I ain’t got no cock! I’m female, stupid!” the goblin snipped with a sharp sniff of indignation.

All Hoggle could manage to do was blink in fuzzy-headed bewilderment, as he openly eyed the boot polisher’s decidedly androgynous form. The shapeless muddy-green tunic he (or rather **she** ) wore, hid whatever feminine attributes that might have been a dead giveaway. The charcoal grey wool leggings and chunky dirt-brown boots she sported was the common attire for male goblins. So really, how could he have known? 

_Well for one thing, if you’d actually kept yer promise to yourself and talked to her, you prolly woulda figured it out a lot sooner, dimwit!_

Guilt twisted in the dwarf’s gut, as he groggily recalled his resolve to make it a point to befriend the boot polisher a month prior. However, he’d been so consumed with his concern for Sarah that he hadn’t actually followed through with getting to know the timid little goblin who dwelled beneath the King’s throne.

She wasn’t so timid now though. No…she was glaring down at him like she might like to give his ears a good boxing!

For some strange reason, that struck Hoggle as hysterically funny. So funny, in fact, that he snort-laughed so hard, his eyes teared up, and his sides began to burn.

“Shhh! Stop that! You’ll wake everyone, you inconsiderate lout!” the boot polisher hissed in that loud mock-whisper she’d used earlier.

_“Wha…what’s goin on?”_

_“Did Kingy tell us all to laugh again?”_

_“Kingy is sleepin like we ought to be.”_

_“Who’s making that awful noise then?”_

_“It’s Kingy’s pet dwarf, over there!”_

_“Shut up, dwarf!”_

_“Yeah, shut-it before we shuts it for ya!”_

The surrounding goblins began to grumble loudly.

“Come on, let’s get you to your bed before ya get trounced within an inch of your life. Rule number one: **never** wake up this lot, unless you feel like it’s been much too long since your last beating…or biting…or clubbing. You get the picture,” the boot polisher mumbled, impatiently tugging Hoggle by the hand until he was teetering on his own two feet.

“Yeah…bed…sounds…good…” Hoggle muttered in bleary-eyed agreement, swaying in what he thought was the right direction.

“Not that way, ya nit-wit. This way!” the boot polisher snipped, and Hoggle felt the warm, oddly assuring grip of the she-goblin’s hand in his, as she began to tug him up the steps that lead out of the throne room and into winding castle halls.

It was kinda odd, but for some strange reason Hoggle felt completely at ease in the pink-haired goblin’s presence; and yes, while that could certainly be chalked-up to effects of the whiskey, he couldn’t help but instantly like her, even if she was all sharp-tongued and grumpy. 

Hell, it was probably just why he liked her. He always did have a soft-spot for a female with a generous amount of sass in her. After all, he was friends with Sarah, wasn’t he?

“Wha-what’s yer name? Never…did…learn it,” the dwarf slurred, his words punctuated with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Cause I never gave it,” the boot polisher replied curtly, “I never give it to anyone. I doubt the King even knows my name, and I’ve been polishing his boots since he was but a gawky youth.”

“Why’s…that?” Hoggle asked on the heels of yet another yawn.

Why was his damn room so far away? He almost rather missed the days before Sarah had bargained for his better treatment, when he’d slept curled up on the floor of Jareth’s sitting room, amongst the filth and clutter. 

At least _The Rat’s_ chambers had been a great deal closer to the throne room. The blasted servant’s quarters were clear on the other side of the bleedin’ castle and the stupid, twisting hallway they were meandering down seemed to just sprawl on forever and ever! Gods, but he was exhausted!

“Why’s what? Why have I been polishing the King’s boots so long?” the pink-haired she-goblin cut Hoggle an annoyed look of deliberate evasion, and suddenly, the dwarf found himself inexplicably riveted on the color of her eyes.

Funny, they were the exact golden brown of a shard of amber held up to the light of the sun.

 _Kinda pretty…_

Hoggle mused to himself with a crooked grin, then groggily recalled his previous line of questioning, slipping out of his grasp like sweat-slickened coins from between lax fingers; _coins_ he hastily snatched right back.

“No…don’t be…stupid. Why didn’t…you…give anyone…yer name?” he mumbled, the question and all but tripped over his own faltering feet again; instinctively clutching close to the boot-polisher, one of his arms looping around her narrow shoulders for support.

She was a deal shorter than himself, the top of her fluffy pink head coming just to the level of his wrinkled chin. However, she seemed a sturdy little thing; taking the lean of his weight without so much as a lag in her pace. She smelled surprisingly good too…like lavender soap and the lingering sharpness of boot polish; reminding Hoggle of how he’d sit and watch his pap polish his boots by the fire as a boy. 

The scent of her made Hoggle smile all the wider, although he hadn’t the faintest idea why the smell of someone should make his heart feel so strangely light, considering everything he’d previously experienced that night.

“I don’t give my name, cause it don’t matter. I’m just a boot polisher, who cares what my name is? No one talks to me anyway. Besides you, at this moment that is, and let’s be honest, that’s only because ya got a belly full of drink,” the she-goblin told him crisply.

“Nah…I was…curious before. Honestly, I was,” Hoggle insisted, hazily recalling spotting her hiding beneath the throne whenever she wasn’t servicing His Majesty’s royal footwear; her dandelion-like poof of pink hair a constant draw to his eye whenever he’d been in her presence.

He’d thought her but a frightened lad who could use a friend, but now, knowing that she was instead a sharp-tongued female that smelled oddly like home and had eyes he could very well lose himself in, Hoggle began to feel an odd, nervous flutter in the pit of his belly.

_Prolly Just the whiskey…_

“The name’s Pimm, not that you’ll even remember it tomorrow,” the boot polisher murmured after a lengthy, hesitant pause.

“Pimm…that’s a nice…name…suites ya,” Hoggle nodded, fighting yet another yawn.

And it was too, a very nice name indeed. It felt good, comfortable even, rolling off his tongue like he’d been saying it all his life. 

The dwarf found himself halting their progress and turning his head just so he could properly study the helpful creature assisting him to his bed. Despite his vision feeling as if it were hazily shifting in and out of focus (as if he were underwater), Hoggle found he rather liked looking at Pimm.

Yes, it was true, he’d never found she-goblins to be an especially attractive lot. They were usually too warty, or too sharp-angled, or much too murderous in nature for his taste. Frankly, a great deal of them outright disgusted Hoggle. 

However, Pimm, with her caramel colored skin, and round apple-like cheeks, made an involuntary, mush-brained smile spread across his lips and set his belly off doing that strange fluttery thing again, the longer he looked at her.

Yes, the she-goblin was no great beauty, and that was simply the truth of it. In fact, _plain_ or _dowdy_ would probably be the words to most accurately describe Pimm if one were to measure her against Fae or human beauty standards. Hell, he himself certainly couldn’t be called handsome by any stretch of the imagination.

However, Hoggle found Pimm’s round, pleasant features undeniably endearing, and for some unknown reason, found himself longing to know if her poof of pink hair was nearly as soft as it looked. 

“I’m...Hoggle,” the dwarf murmured, belatedly finding his garbled voice. 

“I know that, sawdust for brains. Everyone knows who the King’s top toady is. Now stop staring, it’s creepy,” Pimm admonished, resuming their trek down the winding corridor, practically dragging him along.

“Oh…uh…sorry…you smell good,” Hoggle blurted, those last words jumping straight from his tongue like over-zealous hopper-bugs.

The dwarf distantly supposed he should feel some amount of embarrassment for his graceless forwardness, but all that seemed to burble within his dancing brain was extreme amusement as he found himself cackling aloud at Pimm’s flushing cheeks and purse-lipped glower. 

“Making fun of me ain’t going to win ya any favors,” the she-goblin visibly seethed, “I know I stink like boot-black. The least you can do is be civil to someone who’s helping you out.”

That sobered Hoggle just the tiniest bit. She thought he was making fun of her? Really???

“I…I…I…” he stammered, his lips feeling like rubber and his words of apology hopelessly tangling within his muzzy mind.

“Save it. We’re here,” the pink-haired goblin grumbled, and shouldered open the creaking door of Hoggle’s closet-sized chamber, pulling the dwarf a little too forcibly inside the minuscule room.

Funny, Pimm knew right where he slept, and he hadn’t even known enough about her to determine that she wasn’t a male. Irony…

“There you are. Sleep it off,” Pimm huffed as she pushed him back on his narrow bed with its threadbare quilt.

Hoggle wasn’t quite sure why he thought it a good idea to wind his fingers around the prickly she-goblin’s wrist, just before his back hit his board-like mattress. Yet, he did it, all the same, chuckling heartily when Pimm landed against his chest with a breathless _“Oof!”_

“What in the bog did ya do that for?!” she shrieked, struggling to sit up and pull herself away from him, but he still held her wrist tight.

“Wasn’t makin fun of ya…I mean it. You…smell good. And…yer kinda cute…when yer mad,” he chuckled again, somehow managing to pull himself upright and take advantage of Pimm’s frozen shock at his bold, slurred words, by pressing his mouth to hers.

The dwarf was unsure of just what had possessed him to kiss the grouchy boot-polisher, but with the warm, strangely comforting press of Pimm’s lips against his own, Hoggle simply couldn’t bring himself to care. 

A flurry of light-headed emotions, he hadn’t felt since the carefree days of his youth, abruptly coursed through him. Kissing Pimm was like breathing in sunshine, effectively clearing the cobwebs from his old, withered heart. To Hoggle’s delight, the she-goblin’s mouth began to stir against his, the movement of her lips timid, shy, with just the barest hint of excitement.

She wanted him. Hoggle couldn’t rightly recall the last time a member of the fairer sex had expressed any sort of interest in him, and for some strange reason the fact that this particular female seemed to share in this spontaneous attraction sparking up between them, made him want to beat his chest and crow aloud for the sheer, exhilarating joy of it. 

Too bad his head was beginning to feel as if his skull had been packed with lead weights; involuntarily dropping down to his lumpy, worn pillow like a bushel full of bricks. Damn…he really was exhausted. He’d used the last of his waning energy kissing the pink-haired spitfire who was practically sprawled on top of him.

 _What’a time to fall asleep…_

The last thing Hoggle saw before his eyelids slid shut, was Pimm’s gobsmacked expression; her plump fingers tentatively tracing her own lips, as if seeking physical proof that what had just happened between them had actually occurred.

_Adorable…_

Hoggle grinned drowsily before sleep completely enfolded him in its cloying embrace.

* * *

Zitzie rubbed at the small of her aching back, as she straightened her hunched stance, after stoking the previously dying fire in her soot-blackened hearth. It was as cold as an ogress’s frigid cunt outside, and she’d be damned if she let herself freeze to death in her sleep.

With a muttered chant from inside the stuffy concealment of her helmet, the witch cast a charm that would ensure that the fire burned on all night and stayed safely within the confines of the grate. 

It had been a long, nerve-trying evening. She’d tied up the loose ends that the lackwit redcap had carelessly left dangling. She’d served her master well and as far as the witch was concerned, she’d more than earned herself a deep, dream unencumbered sleep.

Just as Zitzie had turned to the crooked doorway of her small bedchamber, her wart-spotted hand poised at the moth-eaten curtain that served as a makeshift door; she felt the familiar stir of air at the back of her neck, the tell-tale smell of scorched earth seeping in through the vent of her helm. 

She let out a bone-weary sigh. Of course, **he** would choose to visit now. Every other being with a barrelful of secrets and shadowy hidden agendas, tucked within the folds of their robes, had been through her door this night. Zitzie supposed she should have expected him and silently rebuked herself for being wistfully foolish enough to think rest had been on the horizon.

“Cheshire,” the witch grumbled stiffly, in lieu of a warmer greeting, “what brings you skulking about at this hour?”

“Oh come now, dear Zitzie, the role of the demure coquette is quite unsuited to you,” the feline-like creature drawled as she turned to face him, “I trust you now know about tonight’s _eventful_ happenings in the Wildlands. You **must** know of how that weak-minded redcap, who laughably calls himself an assassin, woefully wasted the little trinket I went to such great lengths to procure.”

Beanly, who had been dozing on his perch, suddenly squawked awake, irritated by the presence of yet another unexpected visitor.

“Oh do be quiet, you noisy winged rat!” the World Burrower hissed, rapidly quadrupling in size to the point where his large, furred head smashed against the already woefully cracked ceiling.

The now enormous creature’s orange eyes blazed like bonfires, as he snapped his gaping dagger-toothed jaw down, in a menacing threat, at the previously indignant spue.

Beanly let out a startled yip and promptly pissed himself, the steaming urine hitting the floor with a nerve-grating _pitter-pat_ , and Zitzie inwardly groaned at having yet another mess to clean before she finally got to retire for the night.

“Now, do be quiet and kindly allow me to converse with your mistress in peace,” Cheshire narrowed his nightmarish eyes at the spue, who only offered a choked squeak of concession.

“So, witch, do tell. You know what happened tonight in the woods, do you not?” the world burrower pressed, slowly shrinking back to his usual height.

“I do, but you know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here,” Zitzie huffed, crossing her arms waiting for the blasted creature to get to the point of his visit.

The damn feline always did have a knack for drawing things out needlessly, and it annoyed the witch to the point of having to forcibly tamp down the urge to snatch herself bald. If the World Borrower weren’t so valuable to the true king, Zitzie reckoned she would have hexed him (or worse) long ago. He tried her nerves worse than the idiot that redcap, and that was really saying something.

“From what I’ve recently heard Bloodthistle dropped by tonight, correct?” Cheshire demurred slyly, casually meandering on two legs over to her cluttered countertop.

The incorrigible creature began to toy with a jar of live eyeball lichen; taking evident pleasure in watching the plant blink and flinch as he tapped a curved claw in an irritating _ratta-tat-tat_ on the jar’s side.

“Yes, the redcap dropped by. Wanted to sulk about his epic error in judgment to a sympathetic ear, but he didn’t find that here. I warned him that you having to ask the master for another crystal would, no doubt, result in unpleasantness for himself,” Zitzie replied guardedly. 

“Speak for yourself when you refer to the Raven as _master_. I, dear Zitzie, call no one by that name. It is a freedom granted to me by my gift. I go where I please. I do what I please. Beings like you and Bloodthistle are forced to take sides. I, on the other hand, am not. While you are inarguably talented in your craft, witch, you are woefully limited compared to one such as me,” the World Burrower cast her an unsettling, toothy grin.

“You and Bloodthistle play a part in this game of power because you are invested in the outcome. I, however, simply enjoy watching it all unfold. What do I care if the Raven takes the throne? I have no personal investment in what his rule would bring. I can take myself anywhere at any time. I will never answer to a crown. Yet, Gods help me; I do so love watching all this delicious intrigue unravel.”

“Obviously, I do favor the Raven over his brother, which is why I’ve chosen to assist him. All in all, I find the Owl frightfully dull. All he truly wants, when it boils down to the bare bones of the matter, is to possess that girl. Boring! He’s far too much like his father, the Falcon; lovesick and utterly hopeless. The Raven, however, desires so much more. He wishes to take this tattered joke of a realm and fashion it into the seat of an iron-fisted regime. That, my dear, is infinitely more interesting!”

“Oh, the lovely chaos that will ensue when the Raven brutally snatches everything the Owl ever held dear, including **her**! One all but becomes weak in the knees at the thought of it,” Cheshire purred, losing interest in torturing Zitzie’s eyeball lichen and setting his sights on a tiny mermaid hatchling, who swam in slow, despondent circles in a jar of briny water, not far from where the lichen sat. 

“You’re raving mad,” Zitzie snorted, “I suppose that’s where that Carroll fellow pegged you, in that nonsense book of his.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy that you have yet to be immortalized by the written word?” Cheshire chuckled, licking his lips as his wide orange eyes continued to track the unwitting mer-hatchling, as she circled her jar.

“Hardly! He diminished you to a mere mischievous cat who likes to disappear. Human scribblings are hardly ever accurate. Why would I be jealous of that?” Zitzie snipped, feeling her patience rapidly burning at both ends, “And don’t even think of eating my hatchling! I need her to get bigger, so I can harvest her scales. They’re an essential ingredient in a sleeping draught that I find useful to keep on hand.”

“Oh pish! You’re no fun at all. Very well, since you’re so very determined to be the least accommodating host within the gates of the city, let me get to the true point of this little drop-in,” the World Borrower sighed, turning his full attention to her once more.

_Finally!_

“To be most blunt, my dear, I find myself concerned that you might be becoming a tad sloppy,” the creature informed her dryly, and Zitzie felt hot, prickling indignation instantly boil up within her.

“Who do you think you are to question me, _cat_?! Yes, your little skill has been essential to the cause of at last helping the true king achieve his birthright, but no one is more loyal to the Raven than me! Everything I’ve done since the day he was imprisoned, has been working towards freeing him. Bloodthistle was the one who acted rashly tonight and tried to force an opportunity that wasn’t yet ripe, but you call **me** sloppy?!” Zitzie seethed, her breath coming in an agitated huff through the vent of her helm.

“If you are still so meticulous, then pray tell, why was the Owl’s dwarf weaving through the streets, drunk as you please, happily babbling about overhearing you and the redcap’s little tête-à-tête? He had the distinctive odor of your magic hanging about him, so no, I don’t think it at all out of place to question why you let him go, when his blabberings could see an untimely end to everything you’ve strived to achieve,” the World Burrower intoned, his disquieting orange eyes narrowing to glowing slits of suspicion.

“I’ll have you know the dwarf came to me for help. He thinks I’ll help the girl gain her freedom from the Owl. I showed him a few selected things in my scrying bowl, just enough to fully sway him. He believed everything I told him, just like that. Trusting, dim creatures, dwarfs are. I promised him help for the girl, and I fully intend to do just that. I’ll **help** her right into the true King’s grasp,” Zitzie told him crisply. 

“As for the dwarf’s _blabberings_ I’m completely unconcerned. Anyone who encounters him will think him a foolish old man who had a touch too much whiskey. Besides, the potion I slipped into the bottle I gave him, will see that the conversation he overheard will slip right out of his memory come morning. He’ll wake up firm in his resolve that I’m the key to helping his friend, but without recalling the bits that might muddy things up. Fool or not, the Owl’s pet toady is the perfect inside man. He’s blindly loyal to the girl and is conveniently located in the heart of enemy territory.”

“The fates favored me tonight when they sent the dwarf my way. So, I managed to secure a priceless pawn for the Raven. What did you do this night, Cheshire? Other than watch Bloodthistle make a fool of himself?” Zitzie huffed, unable to help the small measure of smug superiority that leaked into her tone. 

“Touché, witch. Point taken,” the world burrower chuckled, as if the whole matter were nothing but one giant joke, “Let us just hope that your faith in the dwarf’s usefulness won’t come back to bite you in your overlarge rump. I really must bid you goodnight. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, the irksome creature sliced a hole in the very fabric of the atmosphere and squeezed himself through the opening, without as much as another snide word of argument; leaving Zitzie alone to clean up the reeking spue urine from her floor and grumble through her clenched teeth about arrogant felines who thought too highly of themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there ya have it, not one but **two** surprises delivered: the identity of the World Burrower revealed and the possibility of a lady-friend for Hoggle. :)
> 
> The character of Pimm is based on the pink-haired boot polishing goblin shown for brief split-seconds throughout the Labyrinth movie. Sometime last year, I got the idea to make this goblin turn out to be a girl and give Hoggle the possible chance of getting himself a wifey to be old and grouchy with. lol
> 
> I’ve honestly had the drunken kiss scene in my head for so damn long, that actually writing it out felt pretty surreal! 
> 
> Anyways, last time I posted a chapter, the lovely Ben_Solo_needs_a_timeout contacted me, via Tumblr, with some **awesome** photo manipulations of Jareth and Sarah that she did. Check them out:
> 
>  [Here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284678601221/)
> 
>  [Here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284678601277/)
> 
>  [Here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284678601300/)
> 
> and…
> 
>  
> 
> [Here!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/562809284678601310/)
> 
>  
> 
>  I think I may just have inspiration for Sarah’s gowns and jewelry in future chapters ;)
> 
> Anyhoo, love to you all and thanks so much for reading. Until next time, TTFN! (ta ta for now)  
> <3


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